#(i am shocked they had a clip of A in the doc)

[cementcornfield]

like the way s*perm*ga has all this lost footage they can never get out because of various scandals with the people involved in it. this is why they need to work faster!! who knows when the next controversy will drop!

[rwbyrambling]

(10/05/24) - V3E3: The Relationship Growth of Ruby and Weiss and the Dichotomy between Jacques and Winter Schnee

Hello to all my RWBY oomfs, and today, I’m doing a scene analysis of a clip from V3, E3, “It’s Brawl in the Family,” the episode where Qrow and Winter fight. While that fight is amazing and I love it, it is not the focus of this thread. Rather, I will be discussing the scene where Ruby and Weiss meet Winter. This scene had some little moments that I did not pick up on my first watch of the show about a year ago (yes, I am a much newer member of the FNDM), but upon a rewatch, I noticed a few key things I wanted to discuss, namely about the relationship between Weiss and Winter, as well as how the relationship between Weiss and Ruby has developed. This analysis will be relatively long, so I have decided to type this up in a Google Doc and post screenshots to Twitter with a brief summary in each tweet, in addition to the blog being on Tumblr. Whatever format you feel most comfortable with reading. This discussion does not work for a normal Twitter thread, so yeah. Let me know if you enjoy this format, and if not, I will make sure to try something different in the future.

The scene starts with Winter exiting her airship, flanked by Atlesian soldiers. The first noticeable part of this scene to me is the reaction from Weiss. Normally up to this point, we have seen Weiss as this prim and proper heiress. Everything to her has been about maintaining a sort of “mask” in public, where she only lets her guard down around those she is close to (which up to this point, is really only Team RWBY). She maintains a certain distance or haughtiness towards most others, especially around strangers. However, when she sees Winter has arrived, not only do we see a warm, genuine smile on Weiss’ face, which up to this point is a rarity…

What is even more rare than this is what happens after. Weiss at first gently says, “Winter…” before she then shouts her name again and runs towards her in open jubilation. To see Weiss openly display her happiness and emotions like this, especially in a public setting like this, is remarkable. And we can evidently see how surprising this is in Ruby’s expression. Ruby, the person who has consistently tried to earn Weiss’ approval and affection (with fluctuating degrees of success) and repeatedly claims to be Weiss’ “BFF” is utterly stunned at Weiss acting like this.

Her eyebrows are raised, her eyes are widened, and her mouth is agape. While Ruby knew that Weiss admired her sister, this scene to me shows Ruby an entirely different side of her partner. The more child-like, affectionate side of her, to where she drops her guard completely and just acts like a goofy little sister instead of a prideful heiress. However, to Ruby’s credit, she takes this shocking development in stride, and runs right after Weiss to meet Winter.

Now, here comes the main crux of this scene for me: the interaction between Weiss, Ruby, and Winter. Winter begins the conversation by asking how Weiss has been. In typical Beacon Weiss fashion, we see her smug aura activate and she begins gloating with practiced and complete ease. She is top of the sparring class, and all her studies are going well for her. Her posture seems entirely relaxed during this, and she is practically beaming as she’s bragging to her sister. Not anything like I would expect her to act if she was mentioning her accomplishments to her father, that's for sure.

Unfortunately for her, this is not what Winter wanted to hear, and she gives Weiss a good old fashioned bonk, which is strong enough to give her a nice old lump on the head. Now, when I was first watching this a year ago, my first reaction was one of sadness and a bit of anger, because it seemed like Weiss had yet another family member that wasn’t really interested in what was going on in her life, but only how it affected the Schnee name, like her father. At this point in the series, Weiss was not yet my favorite character, but she WAS incredibly close (in fact, the conversation and summoning scene with Winter not long after this was where Weiss was cemented as my favorite forever), so to see this at first was upsetting.

However, very quickly after this, we see that this initial reaction is vastly incorrect. Winter was not bonking Weiss out of a disinterest or cruelty. She was not asking “how have you been” like it was cheap small talk at some gala like her father would, and she was not bonking her for not maintaining a composed appearance and being a braggart, which I could also see her father scathing her for.

No, Winter bonked her because Weiss misunderstood her question. We see this with the following line: “I don’t recall asking about your ranking… I recall asking how you’ve been. Are you eating properly, have you taken up any hobbies, are you making new friends?” We then see Winter give Weiss a small but genuine warm smile. It is small but it IS there, like a more subdued version of the one from Weiss which began the scene. 

This shows that Winter is not really interested in how Weiss can benefit the SDC or the Schnees professionally, but shows that she is instead interested in her personally as her big sister. She is treating Weiss like a little sister instead of an object. While it may be fair to say that Winter is not treating Weiss as a true equal in this scene, it is more of a mentor/student and big sister/little sister dynamic instead of Winter truly treating her as an inferior, like her father would. It is a dynamic built around affection, not manipulation. Winter values her feelings and how she is doing… even if she has to do so in her own way because she’s still in public. Now, enough of the differences between Winter and Jacques for now. We should return to Ruby in this scene, since she hasn’t been mentioned in a while. Despite Weiss’ constant protests against Ruby claiming to be her BFF, Weiss instantly replies to Winter’s question about making friends: “Well, there’s Ruby.”

No hesitation. No shakiness in her voice. Weiss says it immediately and confidently. It may be just because Ruby is right there at that very moment, but I personally don’t see it that way. Weiss has spent so long up to this point trying to distance herself from others or putting up a haughty facade, but here, I think we see a glimpse of the truth. Weiss doesn't say, "oh, I haven't really met anyone I can tolerate," or "yeah, there was this Neptune guy at the dance that I like." She mentions Ruby. Weiss does genuinely see Ruby as her friend at this point and motions to her as such with a smile on her face. This, in turn, elicits a big goofy smile on Ruby’s face as well, creating a nice, warm scene. 

In addition, we get to see Ruby’s tendency to be affectionate with touch here. Ruby gently moves to push down the bonk bump on Weiss’ head. Weiss sees this and acknowledges it with a neutral expression, but does not do anything to stop Ruby from doing so. This to me represents a major shift from V1-2 Weiss to V3 Weiss. Early Beacon Weiss would show dismay or outright horror at the thought of Ruby touching her. The best example of this is in the gag scene in V2 after Weiss loses the board game, where Ruby and Weiss hug and Weiss says the famous “SHUT UP, DON’T TOUCH ME!” line. However, Weiss makes no effort to even pretend like she minds Ruby touching her. She accepts it. For someone as sharp-tongued and brutally honest as Beacon era Weiss, to me, her saying nothing at all speaks louder than most words ever could.

Ah… now comes the best damn part of this entire scene, and the main reason I made this thread: Weiss’ reaction to being touched. Ruby pushes down the bump on Weiss’ head, and this is where the neutral expression of hers fades. It is instead replaced by Weiss closing her eyes and smiling. I think you can have a lot of interpretations in regards to this scene from Weiss. You could say it is embarrassment. You could say it is happiness. You could say it is awkwardness. 

Me personally? I say it is a mix of all three. To me, this is one of the earliest signs of the viewer seeing Weiss for who she truly is: the adorkable cinnamon roll that we all know and love. If you just showed the above picture to someone who knew nothing about RWBY and asked them who the silly one in the scene would be, they probably couldn’t answer you with confidence because they BOTH look like absolute dorks. As RWBY fans, we obviously know at this point that one character is way more of a dork than the other, but here, we see Weiss’ facade fade, if but for a moment, and see the dork underneath her exterior come out.  However, I do think there is another layer to this scene besides the relationship growth between Weiss and Ruby. While this warm scene by itself would be meaningful to me, I think what makes it actually important is where it happened: in front of Winter. The woman who, at the very least, is Weiss’ most important mentor, and at most, is someone that Weiss outright idolizes (to be honest, I fall more on the latter side of that dichotomy, but think that Weiss tries to downplay it a bit more due to wanting to maintain her pride in public. On the inside, I think Weiss is a total Winter fangirl and we see this slip at points, like her defending Winter after Ruby says Qrow kicked her butt.)

I think it’s significant Weiss lets her guard down around Ruby here because of how much she values Winter’s opinion of her. What Winter thinks of her means a lot to Weiss. So… when Weiss says Ruby is her friend and lets Ruby act like a dork with her, it’s like Weiss is saying to Winter: “I trust her. I feel safe around her. I have grown to like her in ways I didn’t expect. Perhaps we aren’t so different after all. Your first impression of her may not be the best, but I promise you that this is someone I have grown to see as a friend. So yes, to answer your question: I am doing well, and I am making new friends.”

I doubt it needs to be said, but this also shows yet another major difference between Winter and Jacques. Jacques would not even remotely care about Weiss making friends, unless they could benefit the Schnee Dust Company. He would find Ruby’s behavior and dorkiness utterly repulsive, and he would berate Weiss for acting like a fool, especially in a public setting. Winter, on the other hand, does not care, and instead decides to quip Ruby by saying she is “appropriately… underwhelming.” We openly see later on how much Winter genuinely does love and care for Weiss, but we can see great hints of it in this scene that can definitely go unnoticed on a first watch.

However, this is not a malicious statement from Winter, but rather one meant to fluster Ruby (which works very well as Ruby responds with a very half-hearted and sheepish “thank you”). Winter shows how she truly feels about the relationship between the two right after when she says, “I wish to thank you for taking an interest in my sister.” Even if she may not personally care for Ruby, she can tell from the little bit of mannerisms and interaction between the two that this is someone Weiss has grown to care about and see as a friend. Her fears are assuaged: Weiss will be just fine at Beacon, because she has people there to care for her and help support her.

And of course, we get to end this nice and wholesome scene that has a lot you can take from it in the span of like, 30 seconds, with Ruby acting like a complete and total fool trying to impress Winter. She does a little curtsy and then almost trips over her own feet. Typical Ruby! But, again, I think even this small gag moment can show something interesting, because it shows that Ruby also cares about how Winter perceives her. There are two parts to this, in my opinion: Ruby may to some extent care about Winter’s opinion directly, but more likely, I think that she wants to impress her since she is Weiss’ sister. Even though she humiliates herself, she doesn’t care because it’s worth trying to impress someone very important to Weiss… because Weiss has become very important to her. If you have made it this far, thank you for reading. To be honest, when I had the thought of doing this discussion of this scene, I figured it would be a bit long. This long, however, was a surprise to even me. It took me about 50 minutes to type all of this up while listening to random video game OSTs on Spotify, so I hope you enjoyed the read! Look forward to more in the future. I would also love if any of you guys had a specific WR or Weiss scene you would like analyzed from the first 3 volumes. You can request me to do so, and I happily would. You can even make requests not related to them; it's just that those two topics are my bread and butter. Because I have not finished V3 on my rewatch, I feel I would be much worse at analyzing scenes from V4 onwards, so for now, I would only like to analyze Beacon moments. Thank you! Long live Weiss Schnee and the glorious White Rose. While I am a multishipper and not a toxic shipper by any means, this pairing is definitely one of my all-time favorites, as evidenced by how much I am able to gush about it. I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. That, and the fact these are three of my favorite characters in the entire show helps. Let me know if you have any thoughts on this scene! (And right as I finish typing this up, “Winter’s Gift” from the V8 OST comes on Youtube mix! What are the chances!)

[islib]

Hermitcraft S10 Starting, here's pretty much every thought I've had while watching the first batch of first episodes that seemed worth writing down

ZombieCleo first

Why do they keep making Mumbo give the starting speech lmaooooo

"It's a Skizz!" "And a Joel!"

X first on fire. It's season X time. "That's a really bad start - noone punch me."

...wait what - oh they ARE playing Demise!

MYSTERY GIFTS!

they're so professional you guys

oooooh coop caving!

why is Joe on a horse that's Bdubs's job

what is that team name, Ren, why

"mustard milklies" thanks Beef for making it worse, thanks Cleo for trying to intervene

oh this is gonna be fun from multiPOV "I found a massive hole" "where's the big hole you promised me Cleo" my gods

Doc has a bed thing and bloodthirst, love it

oh the mustard milk team is going for lies, NICE

"Willage" is a very funny concept

"Huh, who mocked my accent?" "Nobody, I don't know what she's talking about!" "...hm? Canadian? Eh?"

Cleo's already resorting to threats against her own team!

"Oh, milk tots!"

oh no, Wels's power went out right before the recording?

lapis is now dubbed "french blue stuff"

"I am a child and so are you!" Cleo @ Doc

"OH IMPULSE IS GONE!" *cue celebration* FIRST DEATH

"Cleo, lie to me and tell me you believe in me." "I think you're a beautiful person, Skizz." "...that hurt even more!"

mustard mouse pads - or whatever it was

Ren's dead! We get all his stuff!

15 minutes left milk moustaches!

how did Ren already manage to name a place "The Hillock"

Doc is only PC for salmon, worried about "the salmon twitter mob"

season 10 stands for X-rated, according to Beef.

Doc doesn't understand cooperativeness. Doc needs to win things. "It's non-competitive- why am I even here?" "Remember: he doesn't like to DO anything." (ref to previously misheard "I don't like to do editing")

Skizz's first impression of Doc on the server, simplified: "So you guys are my team? So I kill you guys?"

Cleo is the only person to play "real Hermitcraft" last season on the mustard m-whatevers. By their own words. Beef believes her definition of "playing real Hermitcraft" is debatable.

Doc just dug a hole. He doesn't do anything.

Suddenly, "not doing anything" is, I guess, a redstoner trait in general? Ren accused Mumbo.

Mumbo needs someone to hold his heels and earrings so he can clobber Ren, I think

Cleo's being a horsegirl? What is this season?

Bdubs really trying to invoke Clethubs in order to get a saddle, huh

noone is scared of Ren.

False-Ren-Cleo plateup reference!!!

Statue book acquired. Priorities in check for Cleo.

gosh I hate Nether early game, I'm so tense just watching

oh that is tragic. RIP.

Cleo's looking to base with people! Yays!

Nice to meet you, Jason Pendergast! What a name!

oooooh new outro music? I think? fun!

Xisuma second (because it's season X)

half a heart during the intro. what a start, X. (tbf, totally cub's fault, he nudged him, I saw it!)

...what the heck is the Hillock, Ren?

Zed's doing things going "No hands!"

oh dear, chat errors o.O

"hey Ren! I totally forgot what group I'm in." what a derp.

wonderful intro, Ren, thanks for the professionalism

my gosh it's the X guys together

AND joehills? this group can't do any wrong! AND THE KERALIS MAN YAYS

"some funny clips" *insert cave-in*

"Hazardous terrain!" "Hazardous teammate, you mean!"

X stop playing with lava, it's not your friend

...dear gods the caves don't like Xisuma

so many Xisuma noises

"I was trying to jumpscare you... but I'm bad at that" Xisuma you make so many random noises, nobody gets shocked anymore <3

nobody remembers to check for Keralis - and this forgettability transfers to the teams Keralis is on. how dare, Ren?

Ren can't count! and everyone else forgot!

doc's doing a communal starter village? everyone's gonna be endgame next week! (probably sooner!)

wonder what the purple wool is for

...not vampires, X. reapers aren't vampires. I don't think anyone's drinking blood yet XD

I think X has some misconceptions about this Demise variant. Might just be me though. (I do know Skizz didn't "get" Cleo, however)

X is starting at a villager house!

StressStressStressStress

first Hermit to capture an attempt at coordination (Ren's being very serious)

hypno is better than everyone (already working)

"I don't wanna die... wait, if Ren can do it, I can do it!" that's right Stress

"I think if you die you should be punished" Well, Ren. We'll see how you feel in a few minutes.

[I took a break to make waffles, don't mind me...]

this team is not creeper-friendly

Mumbo is so brave

why is there just redstone on the floor. who's decorating the camp with bloodstains.

...they've decorated with an OR-gate. yeah this sure is the team with Mumbo and iskall on it.

Ren's adding chairs. On brand.

do not let Ren go caving, why would you do that?

"kill them! kill Etho, he's washed." I see we're keeping that joke xD

iskall's washed now. Etho's washed him. with a water bucket. (yes I do think I'm funny)

Ren's organising (he does not want to cave - Ren, you're the one organising the caving. why.)

cat is a good funeral song for RentheDog

they've buried a pig's head, a lever, a sunflower and two raw chicken. RIP RentheRandomItems

WHAT IS THE HILLOCK

...I think Stress discovered world's tiniest cherry biome. It's well cute though.

oh gods iskall's poor voice right the week of both VH and HC recordings, poor man

love the way cub's apparently a hermitcrab who's given up his shelter for greener pastures

if this was anyone but iskall and stress, I'd be worried about this cave expedition

iskall and stress shared spawner, I'm having flashbacks

why are you two counting blocks. you can tell each other the coordinates. the ever efficient duo! (love them to bits)

HOUSE SKELETONS!

wait sorry iskall "you can fortune potatoes" ? I think you may have case of modbrain. I may be wrong, but I don't think that's a vanilla thing...

season of the horsegirls

Hello sir Meepalot!

Stress survived the scary eyes man (Keralis has no lava)

oooooh aesthetic animal pens!!!! that's the stuff!!!!

...not the Ren Mound, the 10 does stand for X-rated after all

Ren: "I notice you don't have much armor on." *Stress suits up* We continue the trend of "noone is scared of Ren"

peace and love in the neighbourhood

"You're welcome in my mound whenever" why does it sound SO WRONG

Stress's farms are so cute I'm gonna die

Stress getting ready to breed (the villagers. get your mind out the gutter.)

Ren was next on my list, but I'm out of time. I probably won't do this for the rest of the vids just on account of time scarcity T-T

[a-lil-perspective]

Ohhh man when the moment comes for Hunter Ad'ika number one to be delivered I can imagine Hunter (hopefully only figuratively) tearing his hair out in stress

Ohhh yes well. I am clearly incapable of writing anything that isn’t complex (derogatory) so let’s just say the delivery of Hunter’s Ad’ika #1 is a very stressful time—I don’t know who all remembers the little ficlet I wrote a couple weeks back about Hunter worrying over Cyare delivering while he’s away on a mission, well, she does, and it all goes to hell pretty quickly. So. Here. Have this little segment from a big ole fic I’m writing about the delivery and the aftermath. Warning for talk of hospital and medical stuff. Everyone’s in bad shape but it all turns out okay promise.

—

Hunter realizes it must look bad, really bad, judging by the mortified expressions he receives, the sheer scrambling that ensues as he mechanically carries in this bloody bundle, shell-shocked and pallor while Cyare isn’t doing much better behind him. A nurse rounds the desk as he begins babbling.

“Please—help—m-my wife she—just had a baby—”

“Easy, trooper,” she hushes him, and for some odd reason it doesn’t set him off. “Bee-Dee!” she barks at a medical droid to Hunter’s left. “Get them to room A-3 stat and inform doc.” The droid scuffles off, and the nurse turns back to Hunter. “This your first?”

Hunter nods dumbly.

She takes his little bundle from him before he can even register it. “We’ll get her all cleaned up, get her checked out. It’s good you showed up when you did.”

“Hunter! This way!”

Hunter turns at the sound of Tech’s voice, laced with panic, Cyare emptied of his arms and transferred onto a stretcher.

On a stretcher. Being wheeled away.

“No—Cyare!” Hunter sprints but time is cruel, and he’s moving in slow motion but it’s all happening so fast. The walls are closing in. His limbs are heavy. There’s a set of double doors that Hunter is sure if they pass through he’ll never see her again.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

“Cyare! Cyare, I love you!” His hand collides with the door. Through the little window, he watches as her frail body disappears from sight.

He was too late.

Devastation crusades in his chest, now that the blind terror is gone, and grief is there to settle like a stone. He beats the door weakly. “I love you...”

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, hung up in his turmoil, until he’s called away to do… paperwork.

All he can think about is that he just lost his wife and child.

“Name?” The clipped voice of the receptionist pulls him from his strung-out thoughts as he braces himself against the counter. He swallows several times before speaking.

“H-Hunter.”

“Last name?”

“I don’t…” Hunter’s throat falls dry. “I don’t have a last name…”

You’d have thought he’d have called her a harlot with the way her mouth hung open, aghast.

“Sir, I’m gonna need to see some identification—”

“Woah woah, Nali, take it easy would you?” A nurse—the one who received his daughter, he realizes—steps in to mediate. She leans down to the coworker in a hushed manner. “He’s a Clone, alright?” She pauses, eyeing the computer monitor thoughtfully. “Put ‘Fett’.”

[daddywright]

IDEA DUMP YAHTZEE PLEASE

for you my beloved, you get two different story ideas from the doc, double yahtzee

idea 1: superhero AU ;) Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth struggles to deal with the reappearance of Phoenix Wright, a defense attorney from the past intent on ruining his win streak, and the mysterious emergence of a vigilante dubbed the 'Blue Knight', who is determined to expose a corruption in a justice system that Miles can no longer deny.

an excerpt:

Wright had inexplicably disappeared just moments before the robbery. He'd claimed he was in the bathroom the entire time with stomach troubles, but could he have...Miles narrows his eyes. Black hair. A fine jaw. An equally distinctive propensity for primary colors. Could he be the Blue Knight? Is it possible?

Across the room, Maya Fey beats savagely upon the man's back, and Miles watches Phoenix Wright cough up a french fry.

Absolutely not, Miles thinks.

idea 2: turnabout papoose -- essentially a one-shot where the prosecutors of LA grieve their most difficult opponent yet: Phoenix Wright (and the baby strapped to his chest)

an excerpt:

"Herr Edgeworth...I am in need of your help."

Miles straightens behind his desk, tea clinking into his saucer at the desperation in Gavin's voice. "What is it?" he asks, perturbed. It was rare for Klavier to ever face adversity in the courtroom, and rarer still for the man not to relish its challenge.

"It is the Corazone case, Herr Chief. I am loathe to admit defeat, but I simply cannot bear it any longer." Edgeworth's eyebrows crawl to his hairline. "I'm requesting that another serve in my stead for the duration of the prosecution."

"Gavin," he begins, blinking slowly. "...Isn't Justice the defense for this case? Forgive me, but I was under the impression you enjoyed sparring with him." The last is said with an unavoidable dry twist and minor irony.

"If only," Klavier says, aggrieved. >>>

<<< Miles didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this.

Phoenix's presence itself isn't particularly shocking. In fact, upon learning he'd be given the opportunity to face the man once again in court, he'd even looked forward to the proceedings. Across from him in the courtroom, the man is virtually unchanged: blue suited, vested, pocket watch chain gleaming. A bothersome little curl to the edge of his mouth. Phoenix is the same as ever, but Miles swiftly surmises that he is not the problem.

What is problematic, however, is the very real, very tiny baby strapped to Wright's chest.

"My client is a single mother, your Honor. You know how expensive childcare is these days?" Wright shakes his head, disapproving, and the Judge nods solemnly.

"True, very true. When my daughter had my first grandson..."

"Your Honor," Miles says, voice painfully clipped. "If we could please begin."

"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Edgeworth," the Judge harrumphs, eyes narrowing, and he swallows a grrk.

"Mr. Prosecutor is a big scary meanie, isn't he? Yes, he is..."

With what can only be deliberate eye-contact, Phoenix dips his head and presses a kiss to the fuzzy head of the baby at his chest. Practically rehearsed, the infant in question giggles, horribly delightful, and the entire courtroom swoons in unison. Miles inhales, and subsequently crumples a day's worth of case notes in his fists.

He understands now. It seems he was wrong. Phoenix Wright is a no honorable man. He is a cheat. Worse, a conman.

[shepgarrus]

I'm curious about ghost garrus beg and v post rocket!

v post rocket

This is basically me trying to parse out what happened in the missing scenes at the end of the first Venom movie, basically right from Eddie landing in the water. Aka: excessive analysis on tiny details in a way that I learned in the Hobbit fandom when trying to predict scenes we'd get in the BotFA EE, lmao.

Just about every fic about that timeframe goes on about them being separated and Eddie being depressed about it, or if they do keep them together it's just Venom being completely silent while Eddie's appetite goes haywire. I leave them connected, and Venom has some mass and control - he's able to get Eddie to the surface (I suspect Eddie would have experienced cold water shock and may have drowned otherwise) before relinquishing control (with some but limited talking afterwards as he recovers). Then into dealing with emergency vehicles on shore, Anne, getting the show offer he mentions to Anne at the end of the movie, the Cleteus offer, the start of the cop suspicions/FBI investigation mentioned in 2, and most importantly (and probably what spurred the idea in the first place), the contrast between what we got in the movie:

Eddie: Wanna talk about that kiss? Anne: That? That- that was- your buddy's idea. Eddie: Okay well that is good to know.

And what we saw in a behind the scenes clip of a deleted scene/take:

Eddie: Who- who was I kissing just then? Anne: Mostly me. Venom, internally: Well actually it was mostly me! Eddie: Oh god.

At present the file is just 10 actual lines of 'fic' and about 30 bullet points of notes, lmao. Don't know if I'll actually write it out properly.

ghost garrus beg

'beg' stands for 'beginning' lol. My tablet died and I'm not signed into Google on the shitty phone I'm using now as a ~replacement so I've been using Evernote more than Google Docs, but the scrolling when editing and stuff sucks so I've put the beginning and end of the first part of ghost!garrus (both of which I'm happy with and not fiddling with overmuch) separate from what I AM fiddling with to reduce scrolling.

Below the cut as a teaser :3

.

Turians were the only ones who didn't believe an individual stayed an individual after death. All the other species had some idea of the afterlife, rebirth, ancestors watching over the living, ghosts...Turians tried using those other ideas in media sometimes, but it was always seen as a grab for foreign audiences and said media rarely did well with turians-

Anyway, point was, Garrus was at least aware of what ghosts were.

Which was good, since he appeared to be one.

-x-

Nobody could see him, and nobody could hear him - both of which would have been a dream come true before, but he didn't appear to have a gun, so he didn't see what the point was.

Nobody could feel him, either - he could put his whole weight against someone, and when they moved they'd displace him like he wasn't even there.

And he wasn't, and yet he was.

-x-

He couldn't go through walls, or doors, or crates, or anything solid. Air, while technically a substance, didn't give him an issue. He thought about whether the vaccuum of space would be different again[trying to get out an airlock, see what the vaccuum did], but he had safe houses to finish checking first.

Ghosts could see other ghosts, right?

-x-

Or not, Garrus thought, until he saw her.

Her, and two others that were able to perceive her.

-x-

But no, everyone could see them, and they couldn't see him.

So what the hell was going on?

He followed. Not like he had anything better to do, with everyone-

-x-

They went into the ward under quarantine. He barely fit into the elevator with them - he wondered what would happen if one leaned against him, squishing him against the elevator wall; but it didn't happen, and then he was watching them fight, unable to do anything besides run alongside.

And watch. And listen.

-x-

She was dead. Was he watching a clone?

Maybe she had a ghost back on the Normandy.

-x-

She did not have a ghost back on the Normandy.

She did, however, have Joker, and Chakwas, and a full crew. Of Cerberus.

What the hell was going on?

-x-

He couldn't have left the ship anyway after following her onto it, but when they left Omega he couldn't help but worry that maybe he was leaving the ghosts of his squad behind, maybe they just hadn't yet made it to any of the safe houses when he'd checked them-

But there was something going on with Shepard. And even if he couldn't do anything about it, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

[erin-bo-berin]

Jealousy

MASTERLIST

I wrote this fic AGES ago back when I first watched the season 14 finale, but for some reason its been sitting on the back burner as I wasn’t quite happy with it. But anyway, now it’s finally seeing the light of day and was heavily inspired by the poker game at the beginning of the episode, as you can probably tell by tge gif. I hope you enjoy some more Spencer feels.

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: Mature (smut)

Word Count: 2,913

“Pair of kings, pair of sevens. Oh I’m sorry, three sevens.”

Everyone groaned, throwing down their cards as they surrendered to the normality of Dr. Spencer Reid winning another hand of poker.

It was after hours at the BAU and a few of you decided to unwind in the briefing room by playing poker. So far, Spencer had won every round. But the night was early and you all were only a few hands in. 

“I wanna know how Y/N was taught by you, yet still can’t beat you.” Luke shook his head.

“Sorry, but the brains also helps with the wins,” Spencer chuckled.

You mock scowled, before laughing yourself. Not long ago you’d asked Dr. Reid to teach you how to play poker since he was the best and you had zero knowledge of the game. That and it was a good excuse to spend time with him since you’d been harboring a crush on him. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I am determined to beat Spence,” JJ grinned.

“Oh, I'd love to see the lady try,” he smirked at her.

You felt a twinge of jealousy, probably irrationally so since it was obvious to you that he’d had a crush on JJ forever. You couldn’t blame him exactly; even if your best friend was married, she was still stunning.

“Let’s go then,” Luke said, dispersing new cards around the table.

•

“I’m all in,” Spencer said, pushing his candy towards the pile in the middle of the table.

You had to resist the urge to groan. Your hand of cards were absolute shit.

“I fold.” You put your cards down, thankful that you didn’t have anything to lose this hand.

“Same here,” Luke said, tossing his hand, “Hey Y/N maybe we should start the worst poker players club. You in?”

You laughed, pushing your hair back over your shoulder, “As long as I’m the president.”

“Deal.”

Across the table, you noticed Spencer’s eyes squint—like he did when he was analyzing something—as he watched the two of you. You weren’t exactly sure what that was about.

You watched as JJ pushed her pile of change and candy towards the pot.

“I’m all in.”

Spencer’s focus turned back to her as he made a tsking sound, while JJ flashed an innocent smile.

“Okay show us your cards,” Luke waved his hand, anxious to see who would win. You had to admit the suspense was killing you as well.

“Four of a kind!” Spencer beamed when his cards touched the table, showing his four 5’s. 

Your and Luke’s head immediately swiveled the opposite direction as JJ set her cards down with a flourish. It was a straight flush.

Luke whooped and your jaw dropped. Spencer was speechless. 

“No. Way.” You said, in awe, watching JJ pull all her earnings towards herself.

“It finally happened!” Luke grinned, high fiving you, “I owe you 20 bucks Y/N.”

“You guys bet on me losing?!”

“It had to happen sometime Spencer,” you said.

“Come on, it’s my turn to beat the doc,” Luke said, reaching for the cards to shuffle again.

“Okay one more hand and I gotta go. I promised Garcia I’d be home before it got too late. Hopefully the boys aren’t driving her crazy,” JJ said reaching for her new cards.

“Oh please, you know she loves them,” you grin.

You pick up your cards, pretending to sneak a peek at Luke’s cards.

“Hey, no peeping!” he laughed, trying to move them out of your sight, making you try to lean further over to see.

“I’m just trying to see if the Vice President of the Worst Poker Players club has a chance,” you smirked at him.

“You madam President are too nosy for your own good,” Luke grins.

“Can we just get on with the game?” Spencer retorted, his voice unnaturally harsh.

Your gaze shot to Spencer, shocked to hear the sharp tone in his voice. You very rarely ever saw him mad or even irritable for that matter.

“Uh, sure,” you said, going first, placing your bet.

A few minutes after everyone else placed their starting bets, Spencer challenges you, raising your bet, his glare fixed on you. You make yourself resist physically flinching. You have no idea why his mood had darkened so suddenly and only at you.

You glance at JJ to see if she’s noticed and she gives you a small shrug, just as baffled as you are. As your best friend, she of course knew about your feelings for him. She gives you a questioning look as if assessing if you’re okay. You give a quick nod and return to your cards, trying not to feel hurt. Tuning back into the game you notice Luke has folded, JJ soon follows. Before you know it, it’s just you against Spencer.

“Ah, teacher against student. The tension is real.” Luke drums his fingers against the table.

You set your hand down. It wasn’t the best, but you were hoping somehow Spencer would have a worse hand. No such luck. Once again, your jaw drops when you see his own straight flush spread out in front of him.

“Damnit,” you mumble.

“You’re never gonna beat me Y/N. I’d stop trying if I were you.”

This time you did flinch. Your brows furrow, irritated, both at him and the fact you can’t beat him.

“Hey, I did,” JJ pointed out as she stood to pull on her jacket, “I gotta run guys.”

“Yeah, me too,” Luke says, standing up and stretching, “Spence? Y/N?”

“No, I think I’m gonna stay a bit longer. I’m determined to beat him.”

“Good luck,” Luke said heading to the door.

See you guys Monday and hopefully not sooner!” He calls as he walks out of the room.

“Tell me how it turns out,” JJ says, giving you a look only another woman could decipher, clearing meaning she meant more than just the game.

After giving both of you hugs and saying goodbye once again, you and Spencer are settled back at the round table, ready for another game.

“Sure you’re up to this?” he smirked, looking you up and down.

“Yes.” Your tone is clipped, determined, “I was taught well you know.”

“It’s going to get boring winning hand after hand you know.”

“Fine. Then let’s make it interesting why don’t we?”

“I’m listening.” He sits back, clasping his hands behind his head, watching you.

“Strip poker. You know the rules. Losing hand removes an article of clothing.”

“You’re on.”

Half an hour later you’re sitting next to a pile of your belongings. Deciding to count accessories since you had on a lot less layers than he did, you had managed to already have removed your hair clip, watch, necklace and shoes. Spencer had only lost his watch. At least that was a small victory, your one win.

“One win out of five games. I’d say I’m impressed, but that’s a measly 5% of your wins in our total of games so far.” 

Your eyes blazed and you glared at him.

“What’s your problem?”

He looked up at you, clearly taken aback. You stifle a snort, annoyed at the fact that he had the audacity to look surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not.” You look up from your cards to say something else, but he goes back to the game before you can ask any further questions.

“Damn,” he mutters, putting down his hand of random assorted cards.

Your face lights up and you slam down your three of a kind.

“Pay up. Something comes off.”

He shakes his head, pulling his tie off. Unfortunately for you, the next game isn’t in your favor and your shirt comes off, leaving you in just your bra and pants. You look up and deal to begin the next game, noticing his eyes suddenly are intensely focused on the tabletop.

You lay your head in your hand as you look at your cards before reaching from one for the deck, not noticing how the movement makes your breasts even more visible to him. What you do notice though is his slight shift in stance. 

“So uh, you and Alvez huh?”

Now it was your turn to look startled.

“What about me and Luke?”

“I don’t- I just- I mean,” he cleared his throat trying to stop his stammering, “You guys just seem really friendly all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, we get along great. He’s a good friend.”

“Oh, I see.”

Suddenly it clicked.

“Why? Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t answer, just drops his hand on the table, the cards splayed out.

“Well, shit.”

“Another four of a kind.”

You sigh, standing up, unbuttoning your pants. 

“This isn’t fair, you know,” you say, unzipping them.

You look over at him when you realize he hasn’t answered you and find his eyes on you, his tongue moving over his lips. Your stomach tightened, a sight you would never get over seeing. He did that single motion more times during a single case alone, than you could count.

You dropped your pants on the pile of your belongings, not exactly caring where it landed or the fact that you just happened to be half naked. It was like a magnetic force pulling you closer towards him. You drag your hand across the table as you approach him, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. His eyes don’t leave you as you approach him, the game long forgotten.

“You were jealous. Weren’t you?” Your voice is barely a whisper as if you’re afraid that if you spoke the words too loud they wouldn’t be true.

Smoother than you thought he could be, he’d reached out for you and pulled you into his lap.

“Yes.” 

Next thing you knew his hands are in your hair and his lips are on yours and you’re kissing him back with such intensity that you had to pull away after a moment, just to get air back to your lungs and clarity to your mind.

“But I thought you-” 

“Liked JJ?”

“I, uh-” you momentarily blank on what you were saying as his hand moves up your arm and pulls one bra strap down, slowly.

“Yeah,” you finish.

“I did.” His lips met your shoulder, kissing it, “Until the day you walked through those doors.”

You felt your jaw slacken a bit as his lips traveled up your neck, stopping every few moments to suck on one spot or another. The realization had dawned on you that that specific event was more than six years ago.

“Oh,” you breathed, both in response to his confession and his gentle suckling.

His hands reached behind you and unfastened your bra in one swift movement.

“Why Dr. Reid aren’t you suave?”

He groaned, low in his throat. Whether it was because of the sight of your bare breasts or you calling him doctor, you weren’t sure. Your arousal was obvious, your nipples already pinched.

You lifted your head to kiss him again, loving the way his scruff was slightly scratchy against your face and the feeling of his lips moving simultaneously with yours.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been kissing when you felt his hands glide up your thighs, fingers brushing against the side of your underwear. Just the feeling of him touching you through the thin fabric of your underwear was enough to make you shiver. Your lips were traveling along his jaw when you felt him lift you. 

“What are you-”

He placed you on the table as easily as he could before pulling your last article of clothing off. His arms hooked under your thighs, lifting you up and pulling you to the edge of the table, sending the deck of cards flying.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, feeling his mouth on you. Never in a million years would you have imagined his mouth to be this impactful.

You couldn’t see his expression, but somehow you knew Spencer was smirking. His tongue moved agonizingly slow over your slit, just barely brushing your clit.

“Spencer for God’s sake,” you whined already feeling tension building throughout every inch of your body, his touch sending your entire being into overload.

Your head fell backwards when his tongue flicked your clit repeatedly before flattening his tongue against it. Your breathing was heavy as you managed to sit up on your elbows, looking down at him. The sight of Dr. Spencer Reid, the resident genius, with his head between your legs, doing magical things with his mouth was almost enough to send you spiralling out of control. 

When you felt his touch completely disappear you opened your mouth to protest until you felt his fingers on you again. One finger slid in as he watched your expression, his eyes squinted again, his tongue moistening his lips.

“I swear to God if you don’t stop licking your lips I’m gonna cum right this second,” you practically growled at him.

His only response was a chuckle before he added a second finger to the mix and his mouth was back on you again. His tongue moved against you before finally sucking on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, oh yes. Speeeence,” you moaned, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You couldn’t tell if it was just your thighs or your entire body that was shaking, but you were pretty sure it was both at this rate. You gripped the edge of the table hard, the mound of tension in the pit of your stomach unraveling faster and faster.

“Please don’t stop,” you begged breathlessly, desperate for the sweet release that was so close you could almost reach.

Like a balloon bursting after being filled with too much air, your body feels the same as your orgasm coursed through it, rendering you breathless mid-moan.

You’re pretty sure you hadn’t cursed as much as you did in the seconds following.

“Holy shit Spencer,” you groaned, trying to gain some control in your body again.

He pulled you toward the edge of the table, helping you down so you were leaning against it. Your legs were shaking too much to be able to stand on your own anyway. His hand cupped your face as he kissed you again, this time a lot softer than the previous kisses you’d shared. It was then when you had an idea.

“Sit back.” You took his hand off your face, lightly pushing his shoulders for him to sit back in the chair.

“Why?” 

“Just do it.” You kissed the base of his throat, fingers fumbling over the buttons of his shirt.

With each button released, your lips moved lower over his skin.

Finally getting the gist of your movements, his hand caught your wrist when your fingers reached the waist of his pants.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I’m a lady and I always return a good deed,” you grinned slyly.

He bit his lip as if trying to assess your face just to be sure.

“I want to.”

He released his grip and you continued your task, wasting no time until he was in his boxers. Your lips moved in line above his waistband your palm pressing against the noticeable bulge.

A grunt came above you encouraging you. You pulled the fabric enough out of the way, your hand wrapping around his cock. He inhaled sharply, watching you intently. Your hand moved slowly back and forth making him suffer just as much as he did to you.

“Y/N I think I’m wound up enough. Cut out the fucking teasing,” came through gritted teeth.

“My apologies, Doctor.” 

You flashed a quick smirk up at him then leaned down, tongue swirling around his head. His hips jerked slightly when you took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling before settling on sucking.

“Fuck!” Spencer groaned loudly.

You peeked upwards to see his head fall back and his eyes close. You couldn’t help but feel the satisfaction at knowing you’re the one causing him to react like this.

You feel his hand in your hair, his grip tightening the longer you’re on your knees.

“After listening to you Y/N, I’m not gonna last long,” he groans as you hum your response.

Using one hand to pump him, you suck on his head long enough for him to give you the warning of his impending release. Seconds later it hit him, hot liquid filling your mouth. You sat back swallowing like a champ and wiping your mouth. You looked up at the wrecked Dr. Reid, panting above you. It was a good look on him.

“Did you let me win?” 

“What?”

“Earlier. During the game; that last hand I won. Did you let me win?” You asked as you grabbed your own clothes, both of you trying to look presentable again.

“Y/N, you can win all the poker games you want as long as we can do that again.”

“You got a deal.”

“There’s only one problem now,” he groaned.

“You mean besides the deck of cards scattered on the floor?”

“Yes. Cause now when we have a new case I’m going to have to resist the urge to imagine bending you over this table.”

You swallowed hard, the image in your mind doing things to you as well. You looked him in the eye before responding, earnestly.

“Guess that’s gonna have to wait until the next poker game.”

[morbidanthem]

-> Prompt HERE <- By: @otpprompts

(( A/N: Here is the other part, again, I’m trying to clear out my Google Docs. I will probably upload this to my AO3... maybe. IDK yet. ))

Continuity - Boku no Hero Academia

Character(s) - Mirio Togata, Fem!Reader, Shouta Aizawa Parring - Fem!Reader/Mirio Togata Genre - Fluffy Rating - M for Mature Warning - Cursing, Implied Heavy Petting

Word Count - 2,183

➡️ [ Izuku Midoriya Ver. Here ] ⬅️

✏️Written 06/13/20 - ??/??/20✏️

Mirio Togata

“Oi, there is a surprise Dorm Inspection in Five Minutes!” You heard a loud feminine voice shout, it was coming from right outside of your dorm room door, and you took notice that they hadn't even bothered to knock on the door.

You ignored the shouting though, as the sound was nothing more than an annoying muffle that was easily tuned out.

No...

You were too focused on what was going on on top of you to really care about what the voices in the hallway were screeching to you.

The one and only boy scout, Mirio Togata, had you pinned hard to your mattress while his strong hands gripping your wrists above your head as you whimpered under him in submission.

He didn't seem to pay any mind to the voices in the hallway either, as he groaned into your mouth at the warm feeling he was experiencing in his core, as you began to defy his display of dominance by sliding your tounge around his to try and wrestle the control he had over you.

You wanted to break free from the grip he had on your wrists, but even without his quirk, he was still able to over power you with his physical strength.

It drove you wild, as you felt a shiver jolt down your entire body and through your spine.

It was pure ecstasy.

Moments like these were so few and far in between… you don't think you'll ever get your fill of Mirio Togata.

“Hey! You and your Boy Toy need to throw some clothes on and separate before the Teachers or Class Rep. catches you!” The snickering singsong voice shouted again, this time banging loudly on the locked door.

You grunted uncomfortably as he pulled away from your lips a little too quickly, causing a small pop to reverberate through the room from the sheer force of separation between the two of you.

"Ugh, OK! Thank you, Nini!" You shouted in response, as Mirio looked down at you with a quizzical expression on his face.

You couldn't help but memorize the flush on his face so deliciously mixed with the color of his slightly swollen lips.

"This boy will be the death of me."

"Didn't we just have a Dorm Inspection last week?" Mirio asked, moving to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, while he began to sit up straight. He was still straddling your hips, as you both strain to listen to the incoherent yelling that was going on through the door.

'Dude! Help me hide my stash!'

'Does anyone remember if we were allowed to have snacks in our rooms or not?'

'Ok, but how much trouble will I get if my room is trashed?'

"You have enough time to fix your room, right?" You asked, as you tapped Mirio's thigh to get his attention back onto you.

"Yeah, besides some dirty laundry on the floor, I'm good." He smiled, shifting his weight off of you, so that he was sitting next to you. You yawned and stretched as you sat up, watching Mirio trying to piece together a puzzle in his mind.

"I wonder why they keep doing inspections so frequently like this..." He hummed loudly, placing a hand on his chin, with a very cute thoughtful look on his face.

"Probably because of me." You sighed, stretching your legs as you stood up.

How long had you two been "napping'' anyway?

An hour?

Who knows.

"What?" Mirio asked, watching you with so much interest in his gaze, as you began to clean your ruffled aperance.

You casually tried to smooth out the wrinkles on your tank top, and shifted your lounge pants so that they sat on your hips once more, instead of down past your thighs… When has he had time to pull your pants down?

"Haru is absolutely hellbent on catching me doing something wrong." You spoke, with a very nonchalant tone to your voice, while you turned to help fix Mirio's disheveled appearance as well. "He hasn't forgiven me 'ruining' his chance to date you, you know."

You could have sworn you've had this conversation with him, but judging by the surprised expression on his face, you've probably forgotten to mention it.

"No! I didn't know that!" He replied, shocked, as you ran your fingers through his hair to try and brush out the knots that had formed in it earlier.

"Huh, it must've slipped my mind,I forgot to tell you that part." You laughed, sending him a cheeky smile as you continued. "He has a huge crush on you, and is mad at me because, because I quote- 'dug my claws into your heart and refused to let go'."

"That's… there is a lot to unpack here…" He mumbled, turning his gaze to look at the floor.

God, when he is all distracted in thought like that, you would have loved to just grab the back of his head and pull him in close until your lips swallowed his in another passionate kiss… but, getting any more intimate can cause the clean-up to take a lot more time than the Five Minute warning you just got.

Good thing the two of you didn't get very far in that time.

Because, you honesty might not have been able to stop had he gotten your pants further down your hip.

"God, Mirio, you really are oblivious." You laughed out loud, as you brought yourself back to reality, by standing in front of him and smoothing out the wrinkles on his short.

Instinctively, he placed his hands on your hips, as you continued to grooming him while he sat on your bed. He couldn't help but huff at your words though, a cute pout replacing his once quizzical expression, as he turned his face up to look into your eyes.

You can see he had questions he wanted to ask, as that curious glint never left his gaze.

You don't have time, really, you don't have time to stand here and fix his appearance either… but you just can't seem to keep your hands to yourself when you were around him.

"Wait… So what does calling a surprise inspection have to do with you, though?" He asked, pulling you into a hug, as you giggled and patted at the back of his shoulders.

"I am offended right now, I can't believe you forget about El Perro!" You spoke in a dramatic tone, a mock hurt present in your voice as you couldn't help but tease him. "Dios Mio! I am hurt! Hurt on El Perro's behalf." You laughed as you felt Mirio's shoulder shake under your grip, as he began to chuckle as well.

"I did, actually. He is so quiet that I forget he lives in here too." He said, turning his head to look at your closed closet door, with his trademark smile back on his face.

"That's how I've gotten away with having him for so long. Not even my Mom knew I had him, she would have kicked my ass if she ever found out." You chuckled, as you pulled away from Mirio's grasp, to meander over to softly pull your closet door open.

There he was, El Perro, the infamous Black and Tan Teacup Chihuahua.

The dog himself was no bigger than 2 pounds, and could easily fit in the palm of your hands. He was a short hair, and had the cutest bug eyes you've ever laid your eyes on.

He wagged his tail happily, as you went and picked him up off of his pillow, to hold him against your chest, as his tail wagged happily at the affection you were showing him. Your fingers caressed through his long soft fur, as he begins to pant as his tail wags harder.

You cooed at him, saying how cute he was, as you handed him off to Mirio so that you can go through the routine of hiding the evidence the dog leavea behind.

You heard Mirio laughing in the background, as you went to work by hiding the dog's bed and food dishes that were on a small dresser in your closet.

You began by unceremoniously shoving his bed and blankets into a large pillow case, quickly shaping it to make it look like a rather terribly lumpy pillow. But that was the whole plan though, as when the teacher looked into your closet, they would just assume that it was shoved in the closet because it was uncomfortable to sleep with.

His food was already hidden in a cereal box that you had, it was cleverly placed next to other various snack foods that you were allowed to keep in your dorm for midnight snacking. His water bowl was collapsed, and was easily clipped to your backpack that was hanging up next to your clothes, so it looked like something that you would use for hiking.

You were an expert at this by now, and if your Mother was never able to catch you, then it was far beyond the reach of the nosey Class Representative and his gaggle of teachers.

Five minutes... two minutes after your messing around was done, was more than enough time to hide the evidence that you had a dog in the dorms.

The final piece to complete your charade, was a baggy black sweater that you slipped on over your tank top, just as there was a loyd knock on your door.

"Hey, it's inspection time, open up." You heard a bored voice speak, as you quickly took the dog from Mirio's hands, and gently slid him into the pocket of your sweater.

El Perro was used to being in your pockets, so it took him no time to settle and be still, as you placed your arms through the pocket of your sweater as the teacher walked in.

"Aizawa? You're inspecting the 3rd Year Dorms?" You blurted out in shock, as you unlocked and opened the door to let the tired looking teacher into your room.

He always seemed to have bad bags under his eyes.

"Yeah." He sighed. "Your Teacher is off, having an exciting weekend…" He mumbled flatly, as you and Mirio stood off to the side as he began his inspection by opening up the drawers to your dresser.

He really looked tired, more so than usual, which made him not really inspect much of anything.

You could tell he just wanted to get this over with, as his eyes lazily roam around the room.

"You're not off having an exciting weekend as well?" You chided, as he slid the closet door open, while he scanned the small nook.

He didn't answer your sarcastic question.

He didn't even really acknowledge you'd actually said anything.

He also didn't say anything about all the snacks you had stashed in there… but, he probably didn't really care about that.

That isn't what he was looking for.

"Your Class Rep. wanted to call an emergency search. He was convinced I would find something amiss in here." Aizawa mumbled, mostly to himself, as he slid the door shut slowly as he turned to face the two of you. "What did you do to the poor kid?"

"M-Me? C'mon Aizawa, I didn't do anything..." You muttered, flabbergasted he would accuse you of anything, as you gave El Perro a little squeeze in your pocket.

"Right." He said, rolling his eyes at your feigned ignorance. "Just make sure you're behaving in here, no… after hour dorm visits."

"Of course!" You laughed loudly, spoke a little too quickly, and if you were to ask Aizawa's opinion he would look further into why you both had the door locked before he came… but he had so many more dorms to check that day, he just nodded and walked out. "Your Dorm Check is coming up soon, Togata, you should head over there now so I don't have to wait for you."

"Right! I'll be there!" Mirio said, watching Aizawa turn and leave the room, as he intentionally left the door wide open.

"Why does everyone think I'm the instigator?" You huffed with a scowl on your face, as you turned to face Mirio, who had a big smile plastered on his face.

"What?" You laughed, his smile infectious, as you pushed him on his chest lightly.

"Oh, I was just thinking about how much of an instigator you are." He laughed too, as you playfully slapped him across the chest.

"Tch, whatever!' You tutted, as you tried to push him out of your dorm.

He barely budged.

"Go away, Lemillion, lest you fail your dorm check for making Aizawa wait."

He just laughed again as he turned to leave your room, but not without giving you his trademark goofy smile and a small wave.

You waved back, as you watched him disappear out into the hallway.

'Girl, that boy is going to get you into trouble if you're not careful.' You thought to yourself, as you closed the door as you went back into your dorm.

[snarkwrites]

01 & 02 | home; juice ortiz.

Notes:

.... and apparently, my brain yearned to write angsty and kind of tragic things. I really haven’t written much for sons of anarchy beyond a few little short things here and there so.. be warned. I’m gonna loosely follow some of the things that happen on the show timeline, but.. this one might take longer to write / post / update because I’m going to try to watch SOA again as I do this. Try being the operative.

So uh.. buckle up?

Also.. I haven’t made a cover for this yet. or a soundtrack. And this is c

Pairing:

Teller Morrow OFC x Juice Ortiz.

Summary:

“Home is where love resides, memories are created, friends always belong, and laughter never ends.” “A house is made of bricks and beams. A home is made of hopes and dreams.” “Home is not a place…it's a feeling.” 

“Home is wherever I’m with you.” 

Years ago, Hazelynn Teller (Morrow) left Charming behind. She turned her back on everything in search of something.. anything that felt like it fit. But nothing ever did. After a series of events cause her to re-evaluate and she finds herself returning to Charming, can she fix everything she broke when she left?

And again I ask.. why must my summaries suck? I swear this might possibly be better than the summary.

Warnings:

Injury / accident tw - for this chapter only. Mentions of a genetic heart defect / a newborn in NICU. fighting / violence tw - duh, this show was pretty damn violent and there’s no way I can escape having at least some of the major stuff that happened present. slow burn and angst. because people don’t just fall back together and feelings aren’t magically healed. eventual filth. any other triggering  things that arise I’ll warn in those chapters. These are just the ones I can think of, immediately, right now.

Other Stuff:

[ faq - tag list doc ] 

Tagging:

@brithedemonspawn

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@kyleoreillysknee

@rampagewriting 

@sassymox

@twistnet

                                      ONE.

The phone ringing had Jax Teller sitting up in bed. He grimaced at the pounding hangover and he reached for his cellphone, answering.

“Are you family of Hazelynn Teller Morrow?”

“She’s my baby sister, why?” Jax wasn’t getting a good feeling at all. The woman on the other end of the line sounded so formal and her tone was so clipped. Unconcerned. It was his own personal experience that usually, when you got a call like this in the middle of the night, nothing good ever came of it.

What the nurse told him next left him reeling.

“There’s been an accident. She’s been admitted to Santa Monica General. Her daughter is in the NICU.”

“You said Santa Monica General, right?” Jax was sitting up in bed now, trying to get his heart down out of his throat. He was slipping out of bed, grabbing for his jeans on the floor. “Are you sure there isn’t some mistake? My sister, she… She doesn’t have a kid. Not that I’m aware of..” He was hoping against hope that there was a mistake somewhere, but the nurse spoke again.

“Your sister was in labor and on her way here to give birth when the accident occurred. We had to induce labor. Given the state your sister is in, we’re calling the family since we have no way to know who the baby’s father is… Just to err on the side of caution.”

Jax’s stomach rolled. Tara hugged against him from behind. “What’s going on, Jax?”

Jax shushed her, listening to the nurse detail his sister’s injuries and the fact that while they were trying to save his niece she slipped into a coma and had yet to wake up. When he hung up the phone, he swung at a wall.

“Jax?”

“I have to go pick up my mom.” Jax grabbed the keys to his bike and rushed out of the house, firing it up.

The entire drive across town to his mother’s house passed by in a daze. He didn’t even remember what color the stoplight had been when he went through it, only that he was sitting in his mother’s driveway only three and a half minutes later. Rushing to his mom’s front door. Pounding on it to wake her up.

Gemma threw the door open, a brow raised at Jax when she saw him standing on the other side. “Jax?”

“Mom, it’s Hazelynn… The hospital in Santa Monica called me.”

Gemma’s mouth opened only to close again. It was probably one of very few times over the course of his life that Jax Teller had actually seen his mother speechless. Or about to cry.

“What happened? Jax, talk to me. Talk to me now.” Gemma demanded, her voice shaky. Jax took a few deep breaths and put his arms around his mother, explaining what the nurse told him when she’d called. Gemma’s tears started to fall and she bolted back into the house, shaking Clay awake.

Clay grumbled at the early hour but sat up.

Looking as if he’d vomit as Jax repeated everything the nurse told him for a second time that night.

“I’ll drive. Neither of you are in the shape.” Clay was up and getting dressed on auto pilot, stopping at one point to question, “They say whether she had anybody there with her?”

“The whole reason the nurse is calling family is because she was coming to the hospital alone because she’d gone into labor. They can’t track down a father.”

“Oh, I’ll find the bastard.”

“Clay…”

“I’m not kidding Gemma.” Clay’s fists clenched and he took a few deep breaths.

“We’ll just get there and assess the situation. Go from there. She needs us.” Gemma gave Clay a firm look of warning and it seemed to get him reasonably calm.

The next few hours were sitting in silence in a waiting room. Endless pots of shitty break room coffee. Gemma jumping every time someone coded.

And finally, around 9 am, a doctor got around to them.

Hazelynn was awake. And her vitals seemed steady. 

“Can we go back to see her?”

“In an hour. We  want to make sure she’s up to it.”

“What about my niece?”

“One at a time. I’ll send a nurse over to get you prepped to go down to NICU.” The doctor promised, setting off to go and track down a nurse.

The nurse showed up a few minutes later and Gemma stood, the shock starting to subside but only slightly. As they walked back to the NICU nursery, the nurse told Gemma that they’d detected a heart defect and Gemma explained that both herself and her granddaughter’s uncle suffered from similar. 

“We’re not supposed to let anyone back here that isn’t a parent until 8 pm.. But given the circumstance…” 

Gemma thanked her and stepped into the room, taking a seat in the chair in the corner. The nurse brought over her granddaughter and Gemma took her in her arms.

“Oh sweetie. Everything is going to be okay.”

But Gemma was afraid. So very afraid.

XXX

“ You don’t have to leave town, Haze.”

It was the last thing my brother said to me. He’d hugged me. Then my mom hugged me and wiped at her eyes. Made me promise a thousand times to call and come back to visit. I promised her I would, even though I knew deep down I’d be limiting myself to calls only.

If I went home to visit, I might not ever leave again.

And I didn’t want to be like all the other girls I went to school with, settling down and settling for whatever came their way.

I left town with all these big ambitions and plans. And one by one, life knocked them right out from beneath me. Life tried again and again to break me but I was too stubborn to be broken. 

But this last blow.. This last blow was too much.

The nurse came in to check on me and the first thing I demanded was to know if my daughter was alright. The second and a half it took the nurse to tell me that my daughter was alive and currently down in NICU was the longest second and a half of my entire life and the second I heard the nurse tell me that my daughter was alive and I hadn’t lost her, I broke.

Sobbing. Grateful.

If I’d lost her… I shoved the thought out because I just couldn’t.

“Wait.. NICU… What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with my baby?”

“The doctors detected a heart defect.”

I took a shaky breath. I’d been warned by my mom that there was a possibility that any children I had could end up with the heart defect, even though it managed to skip over me. At my last checkup, my doctor had been concerned about the genetic heart defect present in my brother and my mother. Nothing had shown up in any of the tests they’d been able to do at that point, so I’d been hopeful.

I nodded. Taking a few deep breaths. Moving to sit but wincing when a wave of pain washed over me.

The door to my private room opened and my brother stepped in. My birth father Clay standing behind him.

Jax rushed over to the bed, putting my legs back into it. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going to see my daughter. I.. She needs me, Jax.”

“She needs you healthy, darlin.” Clay spoke up quietly.

Awkwardly, I let him hug me. Things had always been tense between us. More so when the truth came out that he was my actual father. It had thrown my entire life in a tailspin back then and while I’m not proud to admit it at all, I’d went full on rebellious. Refusing to acknowledge him.

But he’d kept trying.

“I couldn’t even keep myself from crashing a fucking car. I failed already. She could’ve died.” I was full on sobbing now as everything hit me. I looked from Jax to Clay and asked quietly, “Where’s mom?” I.. Need to see her.”

“Your mom’s down in NICU.” Clay explained, doing his best to give me a reassuring look. Wincing at the way my forehead was stitched. “Least you got the Morrow hard head, huh?” he tried to joke. Jax gave him a warning look, but rather than stubbornly refuse to go along with it like I used to in all of Clay’s past attempts to bond with me over the years, all I could do this time was nod. Mutter quietly, “Thank god.”

My brother cleared his throat.

“What about the father?”

“What about him? He’s married. Dropped me like a bad habit when he found out I wasn’t getting rid of the baby. Only after he tried to pay me off.”

Jax’s fist clenched and I shook my head. “I’m better off… I.. I mean I think I am.” my words fell away and I leaned my head back against the pillow behind me gingerly. 

“You didn’t have any friends you could get to drive you?” Clay questioned. I shook my head, not bothering to open my eyes. “I’d just moved here. I was.. Working up the nerve to come home. I didn’t really know anybody.”

“So the kid’s dad is elsewhere?” Clay questioned further. I could just tell by his tone that he was already thinking of the best way to make the situation right. To make the father of my child pay for being an actual piece of shit.

“Clay, whatever you’re thinking, don’t. Leave it alone, sir. Not everybody has to pay for their wrongs your way. The bastard will regret it one day when she grows up and she’s amazing and she didn’t need him. I don’t want the guy near me.”

It didn’t stop the look in his eyes and I sighed. Appealing to the last card I held that I thought might work. “If you care about me at all and you still want to be a part of my life, sir.. You’ll leave this alone. I just… I want to put it behind me.”

I let out a ragged breath and searched his eyes. When he seemed to relax and grumble while shaking his head, I relaxed. It felt as if he were going to let it go as I asked. Maybe going away had changed things just a little.

Jax spoke up quietly. 

“ You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Try being me.” I muttered quietly, letting my brother hug me, holding on just a little tighter.

The door to my room opened again and my mother stepped in. She didn’t look like the same carefully put together woman I remembered. She looked like she was drained. Scared to death.

Suddenly, I wanted to go back in time and punch my younger self in the throat. How could I have ever thought that just because I was a reminder of the affair my mom started with Clay Morrow before Jax’s father passed away that she cared less.. Or that me being around was just painful for her to begin with?

I felt worse than I’ve ever felt before.

Jax stopped my mom, asking if she thought they’d let him go back and sit with my daughter. My mom led him back out in the hallway, probably to go find the NICU nurse on duty and find out the answer, and this left me and my birth father alone together.

“I know we never got along real good, kid.”

“I’m sorry.” I blurted it out before he could say anything else. “I was messed up, okay? The way it came out… The way it made everyone fight… I just.. I don’t know.” I dropped my gaze to the thin white blanket over my legs and Clay sighed.

“If you want to come home… It’d make more sense, I’d think. Gonna be damn hard to help out with my grandkid when you’re all the way in Santa Monica. And I’m not about to let my daughter take all this on by herself. We clear, Red?”

I mulled it over. It wasn’t something I’d already been heavily leaning towards for the better part of a month now. I’d just been too scared to pull the trigger and do it.

“Yes sir.” I answered, managing a smile.

My mom stepped into the room, door shutting behind her quietly.

“I cannot wait until you are away from this hospital. Do you know how fucking difficult it is to get anybody to answer a simple question?” my mom muttered, leaning down, hugging me tight. Fussing over a stitch on my forehead, grumbling “They didn’t even attempt to close this properly. I’ve seen bikers at Sturgis do a better sew up.” and making me laugh. Just a little.

She pulled away from the hug and brushed some hair away from my forehead. “Sweetie, I..” she started to say something but I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Mom. For everything.”

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t know you felt the way you felt until your brother threw it up right after you left. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Don’t start crying.” my mom was reaching for a tissue, gingerly dabbing it at my eyes. “The important thing is it’s behind us. Okay?”

I nodded.

“You’re moving back to Charming.”

Normally, my mother making demands would’ve set me on edge. But I wasn’t that same angry rebellious girl anymore. And deep down, I was starting to realize just how much I loved and needed my family, especially right now.

Warts and all.

“Okay.” I managed a weak smile.

“Was she okay?” I asked quietly after another tight hug that had me wincing just a little and reminding her gently that I was one giant ache. My mom smiled and nodded. “She’s as beautiful as you, sweetie. And despite the family flaw striking again, I think she’s a fighter already. Have you got a name?”

“ Emma Sophia.”

My mom smiled at that. I figured she would because Emma was basically just Gemma, shortened. And Sophia in tribute to all the old movies she used to make me sit through with her when I was younger, after an actress named Sophia Loren.

“I like that, sweetie.”

When she was sure Clay wasn’t actively listening, she whispered quietly, “And the father?”

“Is not an issue. Nor will he ever be one. I got him to sign away paternal rights.”

“You’re sure.” My mom asked again and I nodded. “He was married, mom, I... “ I trailed off, waiting for a lecture. Instead, my mom sighed and nodded. “It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

And for the first time in years, I really believed she was right. Maybe everything really would be okay now.

The doctor came in to check on me again and check my vitals and after doing that, he turned to address my mother and Clay.

“Mother and baby’s vitals are holding strong and steady. I’d say that if the pattern continues, we can release Mother by the weekend.”

“What about my baby?” I spoke up quickly.

“We want to keep your daughter for observation. I’d say at least another two weeks.”

I took a few deep breaths, starting to panic a little. Wanting to cry. My mom grabbed hold of my hand and repeated calmly, “Everything will be fine. They kept your brother just as long.”

I nodded, even though the thought still scared the hell out of me. 

                                                    TWO.

The Welcome to Charming sign passed by and I smiled a little. Emma was sleeping in the carrier. I was almost home.

And hopeful.

Just as I turned down the road my mom lived on, my cell phone buzzed. I switched the call so that it went through my radio to answer.

“ Exactly how big is too big for a stuffed animal?” Jax asked and I groaned, shaking my head at the question. “What have you done, Jax?”

“There was a unicorn.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.. Remember that one Clay won you when you were twelve? This one makes two of that one.”

“Where the fuck am I putting this?”

My mom spoke up from the background. “We got it in the nursery. Barely. I told your brother he’s not allowed near the stuffed animals anymore.”

“In my defense ma, it’s my niece.”

I parked behind the motorcycles lining my mother’s driveway. Tensing just a little when I recognized Juice’s Dyna Glide parked next to Tig’s motorcycle.

And as soon as I saw him, it was like everything froze. I wasn’t ready to face him. Especially not when I considered that it felt like someone had just knocked the breath right out of me. As I walked past him, I didn’t dare look over.

I couldn’t do it, no matter how badly every part of me wanted to. My brother and Opie came over, arguing about the unicorn, Opie nearly lifting me off the ground in a hug. I reached back into the car, killing the engine and shutting the driver door. Making my way to the backseat and unbuckling the carrier.

“Awww. She’s even got the same chubby little cheeks, man.” Opie chuckled, elbowing Jax who nodded. I smiled and as soon as Emma started to wake up and cry, I dug around in my diaper bag for the bottle I’d pumped for her at a rest stop.

Sitting the carrier on the trunk of the car, I unfastened Emma, pulling her out.

Instantly drawing over at least ten gigantic bikers. Watching them fuss over her had me laughing and smiling a little.

Juice hung back. Leaning against the tree in the yard with a tire swing. Watching. Like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to come over with everyone else.. Near me. Or whether he wanted to just leave.

When he started to make his way over after Chibs stopped to whisper something in his ear, I swallowed hard. The guys had gone back to the grill set up behind the house by now. It pretty much left me sitting in the passenger seat of my car finishing up feeding Emma. Humming softly as I did so.

Humming what used to be the song that Juice and I dubbed ‘our song’.

“Visiting? I’m surprised your man let you come by yourself.”

I glanced up at Juice, taking a deep breath. Bracing myself for all the anger and bitterness I thought I’d find waiting in his gaze. Surprised when all I found instead was concern. Maybe a little hurt.

But deeper down, the same way he always used to look at me.

“Juice..” I started, but I went quiet. I didn’t know what to say. There was so much I wanted to say but it was probably beyond too late for that.

More than anything, I wished I had a rewind button.

What if I hadn’t left town? Ran from the way I felt about everything back then?

“I had a while to get over it.” he muttered, gazing at me. Going quiet. “Jax told me why you had to go. I fuckin hated it, but I had a while to get over it.”

I nodded.

Somehow I got the feeling that he was pretending it didn’t kill him. To save face.

Kind of exactly like I was right now.

“You could’ve said somethin, ya know?”

“Juice..”

He shook his head and took a deep breath. Leaning against my car. Staring up at the bright blue of the sky overhead. “It’s over and done with though.”

My stomach churned. I wasn’t sure if what he was saying was a good or a bad thing. Seeing him again after all this time, I wasn’t even sure I wanted it to be over.

Because when I left it all behind, I hadn’t just left behind a family that actually loved me, I’d left him behind too.

And looking at him now. With a more adult perspective… I suddenly found myself wondering if leaving him behind had been the biggest mistake of my life…

“Do you want to hold her?”

Juice eyed me but nodded, reaching out for her. “Hey pretty girl.” he muttered, smiling a little. After he held her for a few minutes, he placed her back in my arms.

And as he did so, the touch lingered as we locked eyes.

“I missed you.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“I barely survived.” Juice answered, biting his lip as if he wanted to say something else. He turned and walked away and I spent a few minutes trying to pull myself back together again.

It had been harder seeing him again after all this time than I thought.

Harder to resist him. Harder to shove down the surge of emotions. Harder to try not to think about just how much I still loved him and harder to swallow the fact that by now, it was probably too late.

I got the feeling that it was only going to get so much harder.

And I sighed, because every part of me wanted to hold out hope that there was still something there but I had to accept the fact that I’d probably lit a match and set everything on fire when I left town back then. That there wasn’t any hope to be had.

That Juice was done with me.

And that hurt more than I was prepared for.

I shoved it all out of my head, wandering over to where my mom sat. Giving Tara some serious side eye.

“He had to bring her.” my mom was glaring in Tara’s general direction. Rolling her eyes as Tara carried Abel around. Everything Tara Knowles did annoyed my mom. That much hadn’t changed at all.

“In his defense, mom, she’s kind of his old lady.” I pointed out quietly. Taking a sip of the pink lemonade she’d pushed in my direction.

My mom shrugged, grumbling under her breath. Probably something to the effect of she wouldn’t be if my mom had her way about it. I sat down next to her at the picnic table and she peeked in the sling I had Emma strapped into. “Hey sweetie.” she cooed.

Emma grinned up at her, sleepy eyed. After a few seconds, my mom spoke up.

“Speaking of old ladies… If you’re wondering. Juice doesn’t have one.”

“Mom, I.. we both know I ruined everything there when I left.” I sighed, shaking my head no. Trying to cut whatever crazy idea she was formulating out before it took hold. Somehow I got the feeling that it was too late for that. My mom, being the meddling mom she’s known to be at times, she was going to try to shove me right through the ‘healing process’ over the end of my last breakup.

My mom shrugged, shaking her head. Quick to protest, “You never know.”

I didn’t say anything. For one thing, I was trying to get my head around my mom seeming to push me towards Juice. I hadn’t really thought she liked him all that much back then. I know Clay didn’t particularly care for him.

XXX

Juice wasn’t listening to a word Chibs said. Chibs caught sight of the direction he was staring in and he chuckled to himself, nudging Juice in the side, nodding in Hazelynn’s direction. “Go over n’ try t’ talk.”

Juice shook his head. “Every time I think about it, I remember that she’s the one who thought she was too good for any of this and left. Without a good bye. What’s done is done. I wasn’t good enough for her then, why do I wanna be good enough for her now, huh?”

“Maybe it wasn’t that at all.” Chibs butted in. Grumbling as he took a drag of his cigarette. The kid wasn’t listening. He wasn’t stopping to think about everything that unfolded prior to Hazelynn’s decision to leave. Chibs went quiet. He knew better than to try reasoning with the kid. Juice was a hard headed little shit.

“Look at me, Chibs. We both know it was.” Juice insisted, shaking his head sadly. “I tried to be good enough man.. I just fuckin wasn’t.”

Chibs brushed off the statement, putting it down to Juice’s recent downward mood swing and tension. The guy had been down about a lot lately. Like he had a million things on his mind. If Chibs ever tried to bring it up, Juice dismissed it. Stating he didn’t want to talk about it.

Juice bit his lip. Staring at Hazelynn. Sighing as he stubbed out the cigarette he’d been smoking. Every part of him was still drawn to her. If he could, he’d go over. He’d tell her that he still loved her, he’d never stopped.

But there was so much going on right now.

The biggest part of it being the secret he was being forced to keep. Just the thought of the betrayal he was currently being forced to carry out against men he thought of as brothers was enough to have him tensing up all over again. Any second, they’d figure out it was him. None of the guys in Samcro were that stupid. Even the ones who acted like they were.

Sooner or later, everything would come out.

And Juice Ortiz was living with the weight of that dread and his secrets and decision every single day.

,, I just have to stay away. Keepin her at arms length is keepin her safe.” the solemn thought weighed heavily and he tore his eyes off of her.

Somehow, he got the feeling that would be easier said than done.

[practicingmedicine]

Practicing Medicine: Chapter One

(+)1

It was eight o'clock in the morning, and Sheriff McBain had just been shot.

There weren’t no lights, no sirens. No outward signs of urgency anywhere, save for the frantic telephone call I’d received just seconds ago and my own bounding heart rate.

It didn’t take me long to pull on my pants or step into my boots. Even with my shaking body, I moved with a sense of purpose, each action a step in a subconscious routine.

Buckle up my pants, lace my boots, grab my glasses, disconnect my Pip-Boy from the outlet, clip that bad-mama on and get it running…

The black screen turned a vibrant green color as I clicked the power button, lighting up my dark room. These were the words on the screen:

PIP-OS(R) v1.0.3

COPYRIGHT 2075 ROBCO(R)

LOADER V1. 1

EXEC VERSION 41.10

32K RAM SYSTEM

16811 BYTES FREE

HOLLOWTAPE LOADED: “THE-SCIENCE-OF-UNCERTAINTY”

INITIALISING….

SUCCESS!

> STATUS

Battery Level: 100%

Wireless Signal: (?)

Operating Temperature: 90F

> HEALTH

BP: 150/120

SPO2: 100%

Temp: 98.5F

RR: 25

HR: 160

> TIME

Day: 25 September 2279

Time: 08:01

> CLIMATE

Current Temperature: 78F

Atmospheric Pressure: 753 mm

Background Radiation: 0.231 RAD

---

I couldn’t read much, so I wasn’t sure exactly what each of them meant, but I got the gist- I knew exactly what I needed to know. I threw open my door and strode into the hallway, grabbing my father’s white coat off of a hook along the way. I slipped it on over my shoulders as I strode up to the front door, where my faded orange doctor’s-bag lay on its side. Before I threw the strap over my shoulder, I made sure to quickly button my coat and pull my green tie tight around my shirt collar, because my father told me that a doctor should always look his best. I hefted my bag up with one hand and pushed the door open with the other.

The morning sun was bright in my eyes. It was hot outside, about 97 Fahrenheit if my pip-boy was telling me the truth. Not that it mattered- I was used to the heat, and my patient was inside the air-conditioned Bison Steve’s Hotel. I didn’t give it much space in my head.

I started to sprint, skirting the corner of my neighbor’s house and running out into the main square, heavy bag swinging wildly in my aching right hand. As much as I wanted to have time to process all this, to stride up all slow and confident like father had taught me, I didn’t have the time. It could be a matter of seconds deciding whether or not the Sheriff survived.

I was starting to feel kind of dizzy, like you do when you’re fixing to vomit. The Hotel was just up ahead now. The big “Bison Steve’s” sign flickered eerily as I walked up to the double wooden doors, which I pulled on at least three times before I remembered that they were push doors. A rush of cool air washed over my skin as I stepped into the building, and tried to regain my composure. I cleared my throat.

“Alright- Alright y’all, listen up: My name is Isaac Saller, and I am a medic! ” I shouted. There was silence. “‘I’m empty holstered, so please don’t shoot!”

That may have been a bad idea, in retrospect, but it was all that I had planned for an active-shooter type deal. I didn’t deal well with confrontation.

The front hall and the reception desk were abandoned, but the lights were on. I stepped through the next set of propped-open doors and into a dark hallway, where a pretty blonde woman was cowering, holding onto a wall-mounted telephone. Her red face glistened with sweat.

That would be Mrs. McBain.

“Oh my god, Isaac! Come here, quickly- I think my husband is dying!” I power-walked to catch up with her, then tried to keep up a comparable walking pace. Which was kind of hard, given my height; I was still, “between hay and grass ,” my father would have said.

“Could you tell me what happened?” I asked. The words felt so strange to say out loud. I’d practiced what I’d do in a real emergency, but now that it was actually happening, I couldn’t believe that I was actually falling into my routine, just like I did for everything else. Must not have seen any other option.

“Well, the boys- Beagle and my husband, right, they were doing firing drills! But then the shooting stopped and my husband started airing his lungs, just shouting something awful. And when I ran in to see what happened, I saw that Beagle had shot him in the leg!”

And, there was the story. I let out a sigh of relief; here I was worried that I might be dealing with some crazy psychopath! Though, the more I let myself think on it, an idiot like Beagle with a gun started to seem just as dangerous.

“Does he still got the gun?” I asked, approaching one of the four doors to what had to be the firing range. The familiar scent of gunpowder stung my nose as I cracked open the rightmost door, and peered into the massive, open room. I didn’t see nobody, but then again, my vision was so awful that my patient could’ve been right in front of me. Mrs. McBain brushed through the doors.

“No, I made him put it down!” I nodded and entered the room.

As I stepped through the doorway, another smell drifted in after the first- a sharp, metallic smell that hung in the air like some sort of leaking gas. Subtle, and not quite so intimately familiar, but I recognized it right away; the acrid smell of blood rubbed on skin.

“Hey Doc, come on in--the Sheriff is lying over here,” said Deputy Beagle, waving his iron about. I flinched.

“Holster that!” I shouted back, “I’m not going to do anything until-“

“Beagle! You put that thing down right now or I’ll shoot you myself!” Shouted Mrs. McBain. Beagle made a dramatic sigh.

“Fine. But, you know it was an accident, and it ain’t like I’m gonna do it again.” He tossed the gun aside. The cocked, loaded, cold-steel weapon hit the ground hammer-first.

The ensuing, “BANG!” was, no kidding, the second loudest thing I’d ever heard.

“Goddammit!” Beagle shouted, and Mrs. McBain screamed and dropped to a crouch. I just sat, stunned, staring at the gun and trying to think again. It was like my mind was a Television set, and someone had just thrown a brick through the screen; An all-encompassing static crept over my senses.

“Isaac? Isaac, are you alright sweetie ?” asked Mrs. McBain, over the loud ringing in my ears. I nodded.

“I’m okay ,” I lied. I kept nodding.  “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay…”

“You sure don’t look okay,” said Beagle. He was too close to me, way too close. I took a deep breath and pushed him back a little bit.

“I’m good! Where’s the Sheriff?!” I looked around warily. My eardrums were still bubbling, but I was starting to be able to hear myself think again. I had apparently dropped my medical bag on the floor, but it hadn’t opened up or spilled.

“Jesus kid, can you not turn your head on your neck? Over there, sitting against the support beam!” snapped Beagle, motioning towards the wounded Sheriff with his whole upper body. I felt like yelling back but I didn’t. I just gave him a quick nod and stumbled over to the fallen Sheriff.  

The bright red pool beneath Sheriff McBain’s thigh had already begun to clot into ketchup-like clumps. As I got closer, I could hear him muttering to himself, though I couldn’t understand what about. I dropped to a crouch beside him, opened my bag and rooted through it til I found myself a pair of gloves. I had to work to get them on with how sweaty my hands were.

“Hello, Sheriff! Can you understand me?” I asked. He smiled up at me.

“Hey! You’re Isaac, the um, the Gambling-Place owner’s son. Uh, Casino! Yeah…” He trailed off. In my head, I started going over my ABCs, because apparently my mind was too overwhelmed to do anything but stick to its beaten-path routines.

He could speak, so his Airway was patent. I didn’t have time to properly test his Breathing, but it sounded fast and a little shallow. That was par for the course, which left me with the real problem, his Circulation- that’d be the bleeding.

“Alright, Sheriff, I’m going to take your pants off. Tell me if it hurts much,” I said, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers. They got snagged up on his shoes, so I started pulling harder. He just laughed as I pulled them off.

“Actually, I don’t feel much of anything in this leg! Just like I got punched, and now it’s burnin’, sorta.”

That was good. It meant that the bone probably hadn’t been fractured, and I wouldn’t need any med-x. I always kept an emergency syringe of the stuff, but I was reluctant to actually use it on anyone.

Once I’d gotten his pants off, I touched his leg. It was cold and wet. I’d assumed shock, based on the bigass blood pool, but I could be dramatic like that; This was solid confirmation. I was going to have to work fast!

As I searched around in my bag for a tourniquet with one hand, I held up the Sheriff’s leg up with my other, so that I could see the wound in the dimly lit firing range. The hole wasn’t big. At least, not the entry- just a red, penny-sized oval near the base of his thigh, surrounded by bruised skin and seeping out blood. Like a bloody little volcano.

The exit wound, on the other hand, was massive . A jagged hole right under his ass with flaps of skin hanging loose around it, spitting out a torrential amount of bright red blood with each beat of his bounding heart. Based on the color of the blood and the way that it was coming out, I knew that the bullet had nicked or severed his femoral artery. I also knew that I probably couldn’t repair that with forceps and bandages alone. The best thing I could do would be to stem the bleeding, and get a stimpack as quick as possible.

Of course, that presented a little bit of a problem: See, stimpacks are awful expensive, so carrying them around wasn’t always an option for a man like myself. As of now, I didn’t actually have any of them-things in my jump-bag. Some places ‘round here had one in a box on the wall, but I didn’t see none in here, and I’d have noticed one in the hall if there’d been one. I cursed under my breath.

“Go and get me a stimpack!” I ordered. I had finally found where I kept my tourniquets without actually looking into the bag, though if I had any sort of presence of mind, I would have been embarrassed at how long it had taken me. I pulled his shoe off, and slipped the tourniquet on over his leg.

“I’ll fetch one from the kitchen!” replied Mrs. McBain, and I nodded to let her know I’d heard. Now that I had a stimpack on the way, all I had to do was keep the Sheriff from kickin it until I could apply the damn thing.

Easier said than done.

“Why are you squeezing me? You taking my blood numbers or something?” The Sheriff asked, as I pulled the premade tourniquet tight and started cranking on it. I tried to smile.

“I’m not taking your blood pressure, sir, I’m putting on a tourniquet. It’ll hurt, but you’ll bleed a lot less.” When I couldn’t tighten it anymore, I took out another tourniquet, and fastened it right above the first one, against the base of his thigh. It was a good thing that the Sheriff was thin, or I’d be having some issues about now.

“What are you doing? He could lose his leg that way!” shouted Beagle. When I kept on tightening the second tourniquet, he hit me in the back of the head- not so much to hurt me as to get a reaction out of me. I didn’t give him one. “Hey, are you blind and deaf? I’m talking to you!”

“Stop it Beagle! Isaac is a good… he’s a good kid,” insisted the Sheriff, his voice growing weak. I finished cranking the tourniquet, and touched the Sheriff’s ashen forehead. He looked like he’d stuck his head in a drinking fountain, with how much he was sweating...

“Could you try and talk with me, Sheriff? I’m gonna try some more stuff, try to keep you from going into decompensated shock.”

The Sheriff looked confused. He squinted up at me with teary eyes.

“Shock? You mean, the reason why it don’t hurt? I’m pretty sure I’m already in shock, but I ain’t- I ain’t shocked, you know. Like, I know what’s happened. I got my mind about me ,” he grumbled, tapping his head conspiratorially. I removed a few packets of gauze from my bag and tore them open.

“No, I mean when your organs stop working cause your blood-pressure drops and they ain’t getting enough blood!” Finally, I finished packing the exit wound tight with gauze. I started putting pressure on it.

“Oh. Huh. Well, you doctors ought to stop having so many words that mean- that mean all different things,” the Sheriff replied, his breath passing his lips so quietly that I was worried he might have fallen unconscious. I stopped moving.

“Sheriff?” I asked. When he didn’t respond, I reached into my coat with my free hand, and pulled out a small metal tinderbox full of a reddish powder. I waved it under his nose.

“Wake up, Sheriff!” I shouted. He started coughing and looking around wildly.

“Ah, Jesus Christ, what the hell is that smell?” I slipped the box back in my coat.

“N-H-Four, sir! It’s supposed to keep you awake!”

Of course, it wasn’t doing a very good job at it! Before I was even done speaking, the sheriff had puked all over himself and slumped forward. I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him vigorously.

“Keep them eyes open Sheriff! Stay with me here!” His eyes fluttered.

“You know, I like your voice! It’s like, you talk like a teacher, but then you got your daddy’s cowboy-thing going on, so it’s sort of funny…” he muttered. His head hung limp on his neck. I let him drop to his side, and focused on applying pressure to the wound again.

“Um, Isaac?” I looked over my shoulder. Deputy Beagle was standing above me again, clasping his hands together. I wasn’t so good at reading emotions, but I’d seen enough pre-vomit patients to know that he was feeling sick. He had spoken so quietly, which was strange considering how loud he’d been before. “Isaac, Is he gonna die? I thought that getting shot in the leg didn’t kill people. Why’s he acting like that?” I sighed.

“I sure hope not. But, there’s a big red-pipe in your leg, and if it gets hit, you bleed a lot. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do if I don’t get a stimpack soon!”

As if on cue, Mrs. McBain came rushing into the room, her dress all bunched up and full of miscellaneous medical supplies. Among the heaps of things I didn’t need, I could see a stimpack poking up.

“Isaac! I brought a bunch of things, I don’t know what’ll help and what won’t, but-”

Suddenly, Mrs. McBain stumbled, and her makeshift pouch came unfurled as she threw out one hand to catch herself.

Aw shit! I dropped everything and ran towards Mrs. McBain, interposing myself between the unsecured, falling medical supplies and the floor. Packaged Band-Aids, bottles of pills and ointments, a pair of scissors- it all went tumbling over me and I didn’t care, until suddenly I saw the fragile old stimpack teetering on the edge. By now, Mrs. McBain was trying to recover, but she was only making matters worse. The supplies were spilling out both sides now, and she was getting dangerously close to just dumping it all on top of me.

The stimpack. That was the focus. I shot out my hand to try to grab it, but I only succeeded in tipping it off it’s balance point, causing it to tumble back into the pouch.

I sat up, and all the supplies that had landed on me spilled back onto the floor.

“Don’t-“ I started, but she had already slipped and let go of the other side of the pouch. I cried out as it all went spilling on the ground.

“The stimpack!” I looked down, and found that through some unchecked reflex, I had caught it on my outstretched thigh. I blinked.

“Huh,” I said, and snatched the needle off my leg. I rushed back over to the Sheriff, who was unconscious and drooling. Beagle was sitting beside him, pressing hard on the entrance with his bloodstained hands and muttering to himself.

“Kurt, you can’t die- I’m, I’m just a deputy, if you die I’ll have to handle this whole town myself, and you know I can’t do that! Please, please don’t you die, please-“ I took a knee beside Beagle and his brother, stimpack in hand. Beagle was crying.

“Am I- am I doing this right?” He asked. I nodded.

“You are doing just stupendously! Just keep doing that!” I replied. I lifted up the sheriff’s leg, tore out all the gauze and probed around with the needle for a minute, until I’d found the deflated husk of his split femoral artery among all of the slick yellow fat and ground-beef looking shit in his leg. I didn’t have much light to work with and it was pretty well buried beneath the gory chaos of the exit, but I knew it when I saw it- despite the tourniquet, the top end was still spritzing out bright red blood with each passing heartbeat. I took my forceps out of my bag, which already had some fishing-line and a hook wrapped around them, and got to suturing the split ends together. The artery kept on pulsing out blood around the edges as I passed my hook and line through it’s thick middle layer.

‘Moment of truth, Isaac,’ I thought, as I squared off my suture. I picked up the stimpack again, prepped the needle with my shaking hands. I took a deep breath.

In the dim light of the firing range, I stuck the pipe.

The freezing cold from the reaction chilled my gloved fingers halfway to the bone. Had it worked? Would it hold? I had no idea. It wasn’t squirting blood no more, so I snipped off the end of the suture and pulled all the fishing line out, then started suturing up his ragged exit-wound, so that the ends of the skin were facing upwards. I didn’t even bother squaring off the end before running a stimpack along the seam. Once his thigh had sewed up along an ugly white line, I pulled all the fishing string out, because otherwise I was just asking for it to get infected. I still had a little stimpack-juice left, so I moved Beagle aside and shot the rest of it into the tiny-little entry wound, to sort out any of the leftover internal damage.

More time passed in silence. I knew it wouldn’t matter, but I loosened and removed the tourniquets to feel like I was doing something. My ears were ringing, blood was soaking into my pants like syrup, but I barely noticed- all that mattered now was if he was going to live, or if he was going to die. I was just going to have to have faith now.

“Is it working?” asked Mrs. McBain. I checked the Sheriff’s pulses, noticed that some warmth had returned to his skin...

Pulse is already stronger , and I can actually get a femoral. I sighed with relief. “It’s working. Pressure’s up.” A few more seconds passed. “I doubt he stopped perfusing to his brain for long, so his head should be fine, if you’re worried about that. He’s gonna need a ton of fluid, though, and he might need some more help with that leg-“ I started, but then Mrs. McBain wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a tight hug. Once I was over the initial shock, I hugged her back.

“Thanks,” I murmured. Mrs. McBain laughed.

“You saved my husband, Isaac! You saved his life!”

I nodded and tried to free myself from the asphyxiating hug. Unfortunately, Mrs. McBain was a teensy bit stronger than me. “I don’t even know how to thank you. Do you want caps? We- well, you know we aren’t rich, but we have a tin of caps hidden away under the floorboards!” Still struggling in vain to free myself, I shook my head.

“No- no, Mrs. McBain, I don’t want no caps! I just need you to work with me here for these next couple weeks to get your husband healthy again. I mean, he just caught a bullet, he’s gonna need some help getting back to normal...” I was lying about the caps. I would have loved caps, considering how much I was hurting for supplies. But I also wanted to establish that I didn’t charge for my services, and Mrs. McBain had a way of inadvertently spreading that sort of information.

“Oh, but I can’t just let you go back to work like that- look at you, you’re all filthy!” she said, finally releasing me from the hug. I stumbled back and fell onto my rear. “Why don’t you come over to our house- You can get those clothes washed, and I’ll get you some lunch. And a shower too, what would Penny say if she saw you like this?”

Well, I couldn’t disagree with her on that count. Just hugging Mrs. Mcbain, I’d gotten spots of blood all over her dress. Momma had already had to warn me about tracking blood in the house before...

“Alright,” I said. The ringing in my ears was tolerable now. I was starting to be able to think straight again, even if I was still shaking and sweating like hell. I noticed that Beagle had offered me his hand.

“Um- yes!” I said, pulling off my glove and allowing him to haul me up to my feet. He held on real tight to my hand and looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t parse.

“I owe you one, Isaac. I know that this is my fault, and that I’m not always nice to you, but I- I really do appreciate this. I don’t know what I’d have done without my brother.” I tried out a smile. Beagle smiled back at me, and it almost made me forget how much of a prick he’d been when I was a kid. Almost.

“Water under the bridge, Beagle,” I replied. I thought about winking, but I once made a girl run away from me when I tried to wink at her, so I held off.

“Isaac, sweetie-“ I turned around. Mrs. McBain was standing in the doorway. “The door’s unlocked, why don’t you come back to the house first? We can lay my husband down while you wash up.”

I considered. The sheriff seemed stable enough for that proposal, but no one else seemed to quite understand the extent of what he’d just suffered, or the long road that lay ahead for him. I mean, hell, he’d had his leg blown open, lost a third of his blood, and then had a stimpack injected right into a central artery! There were some things I wanted to take care of before I attended to myself.

“I like that idea, but can I borrow one of you to help me finish sorting out Beagle first?” I asked. Mrs. McBain looked at Beagle.

“Beagle, seeing as how you’re the one who shot him…” she started. Beagle put his hands above his head.

“I’ll handle it, ma’am. What should I do?” I raised my hand.

“We’re gonna try to get him on a mattress, if we can. Start him on some Saline and get him drinking water when he wakes up, the stimpack and his body will sorta work together to replace all that blood he lost. He’s going to be in a lot of pain, so we’ll have to give him morphine when he wakes up. I’ve got powder and IV’s with me,” I said, trying my best to cover all my bases without over-explaining. Mrs. McBain started to walk away.

“Alright! You two do what you have to, I'll be getting the house ready for him.” she said, and disappeared through the doorway. I looked at Beagle.

“He didn’t hurt his back none, right?” I asked. Beagle shook his head. “Good. I’m gonna grab his legs then, you grab his arms- let’s get him on one of them cots over there, then move him from there.”

He nodded. We grabbed a hold of the Sheriff’s limbs.

“Alright. Three, two, one-”

[+]

[apineapplewithissues]

Markings

(March whump prompts day 13)

"It just... it just all seems pointless now."

Jordan sat cross legged on the couch, his bowl of cereal resting between his legs, hand cupped tentatively around the cold ceramic. He laughed, but it was humourless and his eyes didn't leave the spot he looked at on the floor.

"I... did this, because I was supposed to help people. I haven't helped anyone. I... I-"

His words died in his throat and Alex took a hesitant step forward before pausing when Jordan grew rigid.

"Do you even know what they did to me? People... people like me? Kids? Just a bunch of fucking kids. We may be young but that doesn't mean we aren't human. We can think and breathe and make choices like every 30 year old, so why was our choice forced from us?"

He bit his lip, rubbing the cold ceramic.

"I just wanted to stop it. I remembered all their names and faces, regardless of the torture they put me through, and I wanted them to feel exactly what they they'd done, because hell knows it won't do justice."

Jordan looked up with tears in his eyes, and those angry red marks on his neck startled Alex more than they'd ever done.

"They tried to break us. Make us go insane. Just to see if they could. They- they shocked us, burned us, cut us... hung us." His fingers moved to the marks before Stilting, smiling. "They wanted us to show before the time was right, see if they could get miracles out of broken souls. But all they got was corpses. So many corpses.”

He shook his head and gritted his jaw, letting his hands fall away to his sides.

"I killed them. I killed all of those bastards but nothing's changed. People still go missing, others still lose control. Riots are happening under my name, and I haven't got a clue about what I'm doing. In fact. I might still be the crazy one."

“Karma isn’t your name, Jordan. It’s a mask, just like mine. And you can hang it up whenever you like.”

“But I can’t.” He cried, shaking his head. “If I die, there is no more karma, no more doc. If you die there’s someone else lined up to take your place. I can’t stop, not while there’s more of those sick fucks out there. I won’t be able to stop until I can look at my skin and a-all the fucking brands they left and say I’ve redeemed them. I’ve survived and lived up to the name they have me.”

Jordan had his hands cupped around his neck, silently crying and letting the tears drip down his cheeks. “It’s hard ok? I’m on the verge of loosing control, becoming LIast, and I can’t stop. I’m not going to, whether I promised you or not. I’m sorry.”

Alex stayed silent, thoughts ticking through his head. Jaw hard. It took him a while, but he finally spoke.

“I’ll join you.”

“What?”

“I’ll join you.” He said. “I’m not doing any good where I am now. I’m letting the LIast rot and the bastards to parole. I... I work for the sick fucks of this world, and it’s time I left. For good.”

Alex ghosted numb fingers over his back, the tingle of pressure on his skin only thanks to Jordan, to his doctor, his enemy. The only one who’s cared enough to find an ounce of a cure.

“They marked me too.” He whispered softly, the world stopping as everything clicked into place at once, the searing red marks on his skin becoming more. “And what better way to bring them down to have their clipped bird stand for the people?”

@whumpster-dumpster - March prompts list

(I know this one was long, and not really whump, but I just wanted to build the story lol, this is a genuine part of a chapter I’m writing, but I won’t release it until I have everything sorted)

;)

[notyetneedcoffee]

No Secrets, Part 6

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (???)

Warnings: None in this section

You studied Steve’s smiling face on the screen. Even though the faint dimple on his left cheek showed, his eyes held... something... that held back his normal vibrant joy. Perhaps fatigue, you thought, noticing the rare hint of darkened skin and redness. Hair damp and wearing a tight gray tee, Steve looked to be freshly showered. You wanted to see him in person, not over a video feed.

"So,” You smiled. “How’d things go?”

“Fine. No issues.” He sighed, eyes going soft. “I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.” You chewed on your lower lip. “I suppose you heard about my spectacularly bad decision.”

He nodded, growing serious. “Lot of paperwork.”

“I'm sure.”

“Lot of worry, too.” He scolded.

“I know. I’m sorry.” You looked down to the tea in your hands. Sighing, you asked. “Any chance you may come visit me?”

A teasing grin pulled at his full lips. “Feeling lonely, Honey?”  

“Lonely. Stir crazy. Bored.” You rolled your eyes before smiling. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“Good things, I hope.”

You wondered how much you could tease him. “Oh, good. Very good. So good some of it’s bad.”

He sighed your name, blushing slightly. “Don’t tease.”

“Who’s teasing?” You giggled.  

Steve grinned, but that ghost of something returned and the smile faded. “You said that because you could tell what I was thinking, that you would be completely honest. Regardless of how long this effect lasts, you and I will be honest with each other. No matter what. Even when it’s hard.”

“Yeah, Steve, I meant it.” You sighed, wishing you could reach through the screen and touch him. “What’s wrong?”

He stared off camera for a long while, out his window, like he was weighing his words. When he spoke, he did not look back at the screen. “If you never realized what I was thinking when I was around you, if this thing never happened, would you have become Buck’s gal if he’d asked?”

And there it is... you thought. They’d talked.

“Hypothetically?” You sighed. Steve still wasn’t looking at the computer. “If Bucky approached me... if he asked me out... if I felt like our friendship could grow into a romantic relationship... and if you were stupid enough not to say anything before any of that happened... then, yeah, probably.”

Steve frowned. “Would you have preferred...”

“Steve. Stop it.” You ordered. “Don’t circle around the hypothetical questions. I DO know how you feel. I’m happy I know, no matter how it came about. So, if you have a real question, please ask. Otherwise, let go of all the ‘could have��� and ‘would have’ and ‘what if’ worries. Please.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped. A frown creased his brow. “Sorry.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I’m tired, not thinking straight.”

“I wish I was there.” You wanted to crawl onto his lap and hold him. He nodded again. “Are you home for a while?” Steve shook his head, suddenly looking tired. Disappointment flooded over you. “What?”

“I was going to call you when we first got in, but I ended up in, ah, conversation. Then I got pulled into a briefing. Sam, Bucky, and I are wheels up in just another hour.”  

“So, no visit?” You didn’t mean to whine, but did.

“Sorry, no visit, Honey.” Steve didn’t look happy about it either. “I’d much rather be there with you.” A sly smile spread. “Now that I’ve held you, kissed you... it’s all I can think about.”

“It’s a pretty good thought.” You smiled, kind of happy the conversation had gone full circle.  

“That it is.” He laughed, and it lit his eyes.

“When do you come home? I want to see you.”

“Hopefully within a week.” Steve leaned a little forward. “I’ve got to get ready to go. Be safe, and please don’t go wondering into town.”

A harsh buzz pulled you from a dead sleep. Sitting straight up, you grabbed your phone on instinct. Natasha was calling you at 3:16 am. She hadn’t called since you left the compound. You croaked. “Yeah, yeah, I’m up.”

“The boys got hit hard. Took Thor and code green to get them out. Quinjet is forty minutes out.” Her voice was quiet, calm and clipped.  

“Their status?” You swallowed.

“Wilson is going to need surgery. Barnes and Cap both took multiple shots. We got the blood loss under control, so they’ll heal up.”

Closing your eyes, you pulled your knees up to your chest. “I appreciate the situation report.”

“Not calling to give you a sit-rep.” He voice quieted. “You should get your ass to the med lab.”

“Thought you and Tony didn’t want me in your head.”  

“Not planning on being there,” She huffed a little. “And Tony can do whatever the hell he wants. Everyone else on the team was part of the rescue. You should at least have the chance to be there when we bring them in.”

“Thanks, Nat.” You jumped off the bed. “Forty minutes?”

“Thirty-seven.” She cut the connection.  

The early hour meant the drive back to the compound went by uneventfully. The minimal staff at the compound made moving through the halls easier, too.  The doctor and three nurses met you at the med wing entrance.

‘Better not disrupt my med bay.’ The doctor extended a hand. “We were told you’d be here. Take up a place over there. The trauma team is bringing them up now. Stay out of the way until one of us say you can come up.”

The trauma team came through the doors in a rush with Sam on the gurney. A blood-soaked dressing was tied just above his hip and two IVs hung from poles on the gurney.  They went by in a blur and straight into the operating suite.  

Two more medics pushed in a gurney with Steve on it. Dirt and blood covered his body. His suit appeared shredded, bloody wounds showing beneath. His head lolled to the side, eyes barely open. He saw you and his mouth opened as if to speak. They pushed him through a set of double doors before he could.  

‘Oh, Honey, thank God you’re here. You’re here. Love you.’

They pushed Bucky pass you. His unconscious form a shock. Someone had torn his body armor off and cut away the cloth from his right thigh. One of the medics held a large dressing against it. ‘Got get his volume up. He’s lost too much blood. Had to have hit the femoral.’  

‘No. No, drugs!’ Steve’s thoughts came through clear as a shout. ‘Got to get up! Where’s Buck! Where’s Sam!’

You pushed into Steve’s room. One nurse was stitching up a wound under his collar bone, the other stood aside with a syringe. “If he doesn’t want the pain killer, then don’t give it to him.” You snapped. “Unless you’re going to help patch him up, then why don’t you go get a status on the others. That will calm him down faster than anything.”

‘Whatever.’ She left the room.  

You rushed forward and kissed his chapped lips. He sighed. ‘Love.’

“Where are you hurt?" You whispered, resting your forehead against his temple. 

“Through and though of the upper chest, left bicep, a graze on the left shoulder.” The nurse listed off, without rushing. “Broken tib-fib, but they set it on the jet so it’ll mend without intervention.” She sighed. “Cap, you need food and lots of water. Let me set you up with a bag of IV ringers at least. No reason to feel like garbage while you’re heeling up.”

He nodded. She pulled out the kit. “When I’m done, I’ll check on Sam. They were taking him to surgery.”

“Thanks.” He muttered. Squeezing your fingers, he watched her slip the needle in. ‘Ugh. Hate that.’

You smiled to yourself. He could take a 9mm bullet but grumbled at needles. The nurse moved with quick efficient certainty and left. You kissed him again. He hummed. ‘Love you. Love you so much.’

“I love you, too.” You whispered against his lips.

‘Yes, thank God.’ Steve gave you a weary smile that faded as soon as the door opened and the first nurse entered.

“Sergeant Barnes is unconscious, although they’ve stopped all the bleeding and have scanned for any internal issues.”

Steve groaned, trying to sit up. You put your hand on his shoulder. “Steve, stay put.”

“No.” Steve growled out. ‘Not letting him wake up without knowing someone there.’

“You can’t walk on that leg. Not yet.” The nurse bit out.

“Then bring a chair.” You helped him swing his legs over. “Now!”  

The other nurse who seemed to know Steve came in with the chair. Either she heard or just understood his stubbornness. “Wilson will be in surgery for at least another couple hours, but he’ll be fine. Doc just wants to make sure he has a full recovery.”

“Thanks, Kim.” Steve pivoted on one foot and dropped into the chair. ‘Thank god. Now get the hell out of the way.’

You wheeled Steve into the adjacent room. Bucky lay on the bed, stripped down. Still covered in dirt and blood, but great swipes of antiseptic circled the multiple wounds. The jagged wound across his thigh looked ugly and vicious. “What caused that?”

“Flying piece of metal. It was an old mill. I think it was from an industrial saw.” Steve said through clenched teeth. ‘Should have known better. Dammit. We should not have gone in.’

“Don’t, Steve.” You squeezed his hand. “He’ll be okay.”

One of the male nurses came in to check the readings and change Bucky’s IV bag. He and Steve exchanged pleasantries. Something startled Bucky awake. His hand came up striking the nurse across the room. He jumped up, only to have his leg collapse under him. Equipment crashed to the ground as you rushed toward him.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted, standing but not moving.

Buck’s eyes were huge, unfocused. You knelt before him, eye to eye. “Bucky! Buck, you’re safe. Sweetie. You’re safe.”

‘No! Get out! No! Fuck! Doll? Thank god.’ Bucky’s hands grabbed you roughly, pulling you forward, pulling onto his lap despite his wounds. His arms wrapped around you, face burying in your throat. ‘Breathe. Breathe.’

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” You ran your hands through his tangled hair. “You’re home. You’re okay.”

Bucky rocked you, forcing himself to breathe, otherwise calm.

‘Never seen anyone else do that. Never seen anyone else pull him from the edge so fast.’

You looked over your shoulder at Steve, tears in your eyes from the release of terror flowing off Bucky. Fingers rubbed along his scalp as you made quiet shushing noises. Bucky took a deep breath and coughed. He still breathed you in like you were the source of all oxygen. “Doll, dammit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  

“No,” You sniffed. “But you may owe Jimmy an apology.”  

“Stevie?”

“Right here.” Steve spoke, voice think. “Sam’s in surgery.”

Bucky’s head came up. The two men stared at each other over your shoulder.  

‘Know you love her, pal. Please, please, don’t make me give this up. She feels safe.’

‘You love her so much. I see it. It’s okay. It’s not the same. I get it.’

You pressed you tear wet cheek against Bucky’s hair. “Let’s get you up, Buck. I’m not doing your wounds any good leaning on them like this. You need fluids, baby, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

He nodded. It was awkward and you strained to help him onto the bed again, but he didn’t argue. The nurse from Steve’s room, Kim, was back. You stayed by his side until she started the IV. She covered him with a blanket. “Lie here until you get two of those bags in you, then I’ll make sure you get moved back to your quarters to recoup. Okay, Bucky?”

“Yeah, I’ll be a good boy.” Buck tried to smile weakly.  

“Same goes for you, Cap.” She turned to where he sat.  

He gave her a smile. “Sound good.” Then Steve’s eyes locked on yours. ‘Want to go home with you.’  

You gave him a small nod even though your hand still ran through Bucky’s hair.  

A/N: Just one part left!

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[frangipanidownunder]

So you simply can't post a list of kiss prompts and expect me NOT to ask you for one. Do you not even KNOW me? Please consider a ficlet (or more!) for #11-Reunion kiss. But maybe pre-breakup. A reunion after being apart for some other reason? This could easily be combined with another kind of kiss - first, shy, etc. (And I am holding my breath for your maid/master AU!) Fic is Medicine Anon

A Lifetime Ago: Fic

Fat blossoms, serrated petals, marshmallow pink, weighted the branches on the tree in the courtyard of her block. Sun heated the top of her head, lifting the hair from her scalp, and the interior of the car smelled of warm leather and dust. Motes danced as she laid her jacket on the passenger seat. 

When Mulder got in, he moved the jacket. Of course. She’d become so used to driving alone. More dust sparkled in the shaft of sunlight that shot through the glass. A glitter welcome party. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, lost in the weird sense of the strange and familiar, the old and the new. He looked at her oddly. 

It made her blush, the intensity of his scrutiny. But the house looked pretty in the rearview mirror. Climbing vines over the fence, vivid green leaves bushy on the trees and shrubs. She could see a row of stakes just by the shed.

“Tomatoes?” she asked, nodding over her shoulder.

“Dirty Girl, Super Snow White and Ruby Gold.”

She drove over the gravel towards the road. “Sounds like one of those movies you used to watch.”

His chuckle was chesty, and she caught his full smile out the corner of her eye. He looked well. He looked good. He’d been looking better each time she’d seen him over the past few months, as though he’d turned some corner in his mind and life was no longer the bitter drag it had been. If tomato plants with exotic names were the key to this change, she’d take that over Prozac and desperate, begging midnight phone calls.

Years before she had loved those quiet, murmured conversations. When they meant connection, trust. But the FBI was a lifetime, a lost child and a break-up ago. Now, phone calls were made in office hours, more recently, she realised, when she was already on her way to see him.

“Where are we going again?” he asked, winding the window down and resting an elbow on the sill. “I admit I was surprised when you called. It kind of felt like you were asking me on a date.” He looked across at her and the fresh blast of air saved her from blushing again. “Is this a date?”

Chuffing, she fixed her eyes on the road. “When was the last time you went out, Mulder?”

“I go out,” he said, indignant. 

She snorted. “Running at three in the morning does not constitute going out.” 

“I’ve become friendly with the guy at the nursery.”

“Friendly?”

“Don’t give me that look. I can be friendly, Scully.” She remembered his friendly as either empathetic, nerdy or flirty.  “He orders heirloom produce for me, teaches me about companion plants and has a fascination for UFOs. Funny how life works out, huh?”

“Huh,” she said. Nerdy.

A colleague at the hospital had married at the winery last fall and Scully had been struck by the setting, the ambience. Now she looked around and saw its precise beauty, high vaulted ceiling, wide landscapes on the silvery walls, starched white linen, gold embossed menus, cut crystalware. It was over the top. God, she’d misjudged this. Why didn’t she just go for Clint’s Diner where the talking point was the font used to spell the name, so that the L and the I were joined to form what looked like a U. Asking for the cunt’s special was Mulder’s favourite joke.  Even the Italian bistro with the red and white checked plastic tablecloths and fake tealights in jam jars would have been a better choice.

“So it is a date,” he said, but behind his broad grin there was a look of trepidation. He went to hook his thumbs in his belt loops but he wasn’t wearing shitty jeans. Instead, his fist curled into his pants pocket and he stood, uncharacteristically insignificant, in the magnificent room.

Guilt flared in her chest. Mulder had been a recluse for years, pummelling his chest with his self-hatred and lacing all their interactions with accusations and blame, and now, because he was growing fucking tomatoes, she’d decided he could cope with a three-course degustation lunch and two glasses of Pinot Gris?“This is not what I…” But she was cut off by the Maitre D who swept over and checked the booking. “Dr Scully, yes, that’s right.” Why had she chosen that salutation when she called. It made it sound like a business lunch.

Their table was on the terrace under heavy-scented purple wisteria. The waiter unflapped serviettes like he was cracking a whip. He placed glasses, crockery and cutlery with the precision required for surgery. Mulder remained quiet the entire time, but regarded her, not the waiter. His expression softened when the waiter left and dappled light filtered over his skin.

“This is not what I expected, Scully. But it’s a step up from chilli dogs and Shiner Bock.”

Ugh. Now she was craving an evening on the couch watching him watching the game. “I’m sorry, Mulder. This feels all wrong.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning forward, sliding his hand over the table top, but careful to leave his fingers just an inch from hers. “It’s fine. I kind of love being wined and dined. It makes me feel special.” His fingers crept closer, close enough for her to see the white fleck on his left index nail, the light abrasion on his ring finger knuckle, close enough to remember what those elegant digits used to do to her.“As long as you don’t expect me to put out, Scully.” He grinned suddenly. “You should know up front that I’m not that easy.”

No, she thought, you’re not. We were never easy, you and me. She laughed at his joke anyway, his smile urged her to indulge him. The waiter brought the wine and Mulder sniffed, swirled and sipped it before giving it his approval. They chose entrees and mains and he chatted amiably, telling stories about the nursery dude and his collection of blurry photos of cigar-shaped crafts.

“I hadn’t the heart to tell him it was all BS, Scully. Why burst his bubble? He gets a lot of joy out of it.” Ah, empathy.

“And you get free seeds. Sounds like a fair exchange.”

He sat back, arms behind his head, before realising where he was and sitting upright, hands on his lap, much more respectable. “I’ve missed you,” he said, out of nowhere. “But this was nice. Unexpectedly so. A nice date, if I may be so bold as to describe it so, Doc.”

Flirty. She chuffed, cheeks aflame. The wine, she thought. It was always the wine. “It’s good to see you so relaxed, Mulder. It’s been a while.”

“Was I ever relaxed, Scully?” he asked, genuinely. “I look back now and see how tightly coiled I was. Have been.” His head bobbed down, but his eyes lifted to hers. “Am.”

The first time she visited him after she left, he was cowering under the kitchen table, shards of glass and ceramic scattered across the floor. He didn’t speak for an hour. She sat at a chair six feet away from him, listening to his tight sobs, watching his shoulders bunch, while she embraced her old friend, guilt.

“You’ve been through a lot, Mulder. We both have. It’s been a difficult…”

“Life?” he supplied.

“I was going to say time, but yeah. That too.” She laughed and so did he. His fingers edged forward again, touching hers this time. Heat sparked. He felt it too, he almost recoiled in shock, but pressed on, covering her hand with his. He clasped it gently, lifted it, nuzzled her knuckles, eyes closed so she could admire the length of his lashes and the furrow between his brows. A lifetime of pain in two creases. She had an urge to kiss them, run her tongue along the downy lines of them, taste his familiar skin.

“We should go,” she said, after a time. 

He held the door open for her and stooped inside the car, dazzling her with his smile. “Just remember, I don’t go all the way on first dates.”

“What about first base?” she said, after he’d already shut the door.

They drove back, listening to an 80s radio station that Mulder found with ease. He belted out Living on a Prayer and other big ballads, air guitar and all. She smiled all the way to the house. When she parked, Sinead O’Connor’s singular voice introduced Nothing Compares 2 U. She went to turn the radio off but he held her wrist.

“I love this song,” he said. “Prince’s masterful lyrics. And that video clip.”

“It was a powerful statement,” she replied and let his fingers curl around hers. 

“I really did enjoy this, Scully. Going out, you know, where people are…out there. It’s hard sometimes. I…don’t…I haven’t done it often because it feels like I’m a trespasser, that I don’t belong.”

“You never did. We never did, Mulder. We were always on the outer.”

“But with you,” he said, snugging her single hand in both of his. “I always felt braver in company.”

Heat spread in her chest, her heart pinged. She didn’t know what to say. Literally no words formed, despite her mouth falling open. Tears burnt at her eyes but she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. 

“What about that first base, Scully?” His smile was a little hopeful, a lot wobbly.

She nodded. He captured her open lips and closed them between his. It was strange and familiar, old and new again. Sparkles glittered behind her eyes, just like those dust motes. When was that? Just a few hours ago? Surely not. That glitter welcome party was a lifetime ago.

[thetriggeredhappy]

Yo once again I LOVE your work and your writing style is stupendous my dude. If you're still taking requests, I was wondering if you could write a drabble about one of the more emotionally strong members of the team (medic, engie, spy, etc.) having an absolute b r e a k d o w n and how the others deal with it. Once again, you're a national treasure and I hope you're safe in these trying times!!

i think “national treasure” is one of my favorite compliment phrases just because i literally can’t think of it without also thinking of nic cage. maybe he’ll come by to steal me away from the fucking horrific sleep schedule that resulted in me writing i think actually none of this before 3 AM

(this is like 7k words, warnings for mention of medic doing medic things, mention of violence, possible trigger warnings for drug use, drug misuse, and overdose, and mention of problems with eating and sleeping)

-

It was a quiet, slow, creeping thing, right up until the moment that it wasn’t. Something that might have eventually been noticed in a way besides in hindsight, but it wasn’t, not until it was almost grotesquely unavoidably obvious. Some might describe it as tragic, but Heavy would mostly just describe it as a personal failing that he didn’t notice and intervene sooner.

He should’ve noticed that the dark circles under Medic’s eyes were getting darker, from simple marks of age to a signifier that perhaps he’d been too invested in his work to go to sleep on time for a night or two and then at some point to so dark they might have been mistaken for bruises.

He should’ve noticed that Medic’s posture had shifted from crisp and ramrod-straight to looser and lower, his movements changing from confident if erratic to downright jerky and unnatural. Rather than cheering and shouting his excitement with the rest of the team to join the fray and jump into battle, he had started simply telling them to hurry up, barking out his usual warnings with less humor and lightheartedness or even comical levels of borderline maternal concern, instead frantic at best and angry at worst.

He should’ve noticed that Medic was spending less time crooning and having one-sided humorous dialogues with his birds when Heavy was in the room, spending less time paying attention to the birds in general, silent and almost too-still, face locked in a tight lack of expression.

To be fair, he did notice before the major fallout itself occurred, albiet so very shortly before. He noticed the fact that Medic showed up to battle with his trademark crisp white coat in a much more ruffled and rumbled condition, his hair slightly out of order and his glasses slightly dirty and smudged. And then he noticed and realized all those other things one after another, with mounting concern, but then battle was starting and he had no time to address it.

After battle he’d forgotten for a while, preoccupied by other thoughts of other things, and only remembered it later that night, at which point he considered his options for a long while before eventually deciding to follow his gut and go check on Medic.

The hallway before the infirmary was entirely silent and very dim, late evening settling into view across the base, the general chaos the team tended to create starting to subside in the wake of sunset. 

Usually, Medic could be assumed to be up to any number of things, but most often a specific few. Working on getting black market animal organs, or doing basic caretaking for his multitude of doves, or working with some cadaver or other probably bloody experiment. Every once and a while he was locked away in the room offshooting from the infirmary that was likely meant to be used as a ward, brewing up more of the healing vapor he used in his Medigun (the recipe and process of which was a very closely guarded secret).

But oddly enough, this time he had out chemistry equipment.

Heavy hesitated at the door. Usually Medic would acknowledge him—or anyone else entering his space—the moment they showed up, always very aware of any given space that he was in. But he remained hunched over whatever he was working on.

Heavy stood there for a few moments, observing a series of other things that weren’t quite right since suddenly his attention was on it. For one thing, his birds weren’t crowded up around him and his work, and were instead all up among the rafters, practically out of sight and very quiet. For another, Medic hadn’t even taken off his coat and gloves, something usually standard for him once he was in his lab space. And often Medic had music playing and spoke quickly and quietly to himself or his patient or his birds as he worked, but instead now he was silent.

Heavy moved forward carefully, slowly, navigating his way towards Medic as well as he could. Glanced over what Medic was working on—something with test tubes, something being portioned out, maybe. In the harsh light of the overhead, his dark circles seemed so much more pronounced.

Medic finally seemed to take notice of him in his periphery and jolted bodily, flinching back with a sharp yelp of panic. He practically tripped over himself as he reared away, and Heavy flinched too in shock and surprise as Medic’s flailing ended up knocking beakers and test tubes and measuring implements alike to the ground to shatter, and in only a few seconds the area had gone to one of calm and silence and light disarray to glass shards and spilled chemicals and Medic holding his bonesaw up before himself defensively, back pressed to the counter, eyes wide and chest heaving, looking entirely like a caged animal.

It took Medic a few seconds too long to visibly shake off his panic and fear, blinking a few times to orient himself again, glancing around their immediate area with clear embarrassment. “Ah, Heavy,” he managed, voice wobbling a little, unable to meet Heavy’s eyes. “I... did not hear you enter. You startled me.”

“Heavy noticed,” he said slowly, still surprised but trying very hard not to sound too terribly judging about it.

Medic put his bonesaw back down with a shaking hand, straightening up, belatedly noticing the mess he’d made in his moment of panic, across the floor and across himself. “Did you... need something?” he asked, visibly disoriented and rattled but clearly trying to seem more composed.

“Just... to check on you,” Heavy said, tone even and calm.

“I don’t need checking up on, Heavy,” Medic said, speaking just a touch too quickly and still not entirely meeting his eyes.

“Is just that Doktor has been acting strange and Heavy worries,” he elaborated carefully, gesturing at himself loosely. “About team and about friends especially.”

“It is appreciated but entirely unnecessary thank you,” Medic said firmly, and still, still wouldn’t look at Heavy, eyes locked on the broken glass between them, and Heavy was having a little trouble reading his expression. It was something strange and new, something he hadn’t seen Medic wearing before, but finally he managed to place what emotion he was displaying, and it caught him by surprise.

Something like guilt.

Heavy looked over the remainder of the setup that Medic had been working with, this time more critically. “What is this?” he asked simply, gesturing at the surviving parts of whatever the experiment or project was and the glass on the floor.

Medic flinched a little at the question. “A personal project. Of no concern to you,” he said, voice clipped.

“Maybe a little concern to me,” Heavy tried, an attempt at a joke. “As your friend.”

“Of no concern to you,” Medic repeated, voice migrating from clipped directly over into blatantly cold.

Heavy blinked at it, a stab of hurt worming into his chest and making his expression fall. His jaw went tight. “Fine,” he said, letting his anger take hold for a moment and turning away decisively. “Then Heavy will see Doktor tomorrow.”

He heard Medic sigh harshly before the door fell closed behind him.

He would end up wishing, later on, that he’d kept a level head. Pressed harder, asked more questions. Because he should’ve been more worried than angry, surely, at Medic startling so badly. He should’ve been more worried at Medic dodging questions when usually he was so enthusiastic about rambling about his projects. He should’ve been more worried at the doves not choosing to be all over whatever Medic was doing, or even nearby him.

The next morning, Medic wasn’t at breakfast, which wasn’t strange—he almost never was. Didn’t turn up with the larger part of the team before the match of the day, which was also fair, he tended to do most of his getting ready in the privacy of his own space.

Twenty minutes until the match was meant to start, and Medic wasn’t there, which was strange. He always showed up at least twenty minutes early to set up his weapons and make sure they were in order, to calibrate the Medigun. But maybe he was just running a little late—not usually this late, admittedly, but it was possible, even if it was a first.

But Heavy couldn’t shake a feeling of unease, regardless.

Fifteen minutes until the match was meant to start, and Heavy was elbowed in the upper arm, and startled back out of his thoughts to look for the source.

Scout was giving him a look of mild confusion. “Yo, what’s your deal?” he asked, tone lighthearted. “You’re actin’ like a total space cadet, big guy. What’s up?”

Heavy gave him a look of confusion at the colloquialism, not entirely familiar with it. Scout rolled his eyes.

“Means you’re not paying attention to nothin’. Spacing out. Lookin’ off and gettin’ all up in your own head about stuff,” he elaborated, even if he sighed a bit dramatically at needing to explain.

“Ah,” Heavy nodded, understanding and feeling a little bashful. “Just... thinking.”

Scout was still squinting at him a little bit, as if suspicious. He glanced back towards the room at large as there was a sudden noise, distracted for a moment, before he blinked, standing up straight. “Oh, what, is it ‘cause the Doc ain’t here yet?” he asked outright as it occurred to him.

Heavy nodded after a moment.

Scout rocked on his heels a few times, nodding to himself. “Yeah, hey, that ain’t like him,” Scout seemed to decide. “What’s got him late?”

Heavy frowned at him.

“I mean, you’d be the one to know,” Scout shrugged. “Figured I’d ask.”

“I do not know,” Heavy said, and maybe some bitterness crept into his tone, because Scout’s eyebrows shot up and he promptly removed himself from the conversation.

At the ten minute mark, Heavy could hear the other mercenaries starting to notice too, talking amongst themselves quietly but casually. He didn’t bother overtly listening in or moving to join the conversation, just continuing to look off into middle distance as he listened to them talking.

“Think he’s gone and slept in?” Demo mused.

“That would be a first,” Spy snorted.

“Weren’t at breakfast, then?” Sniper asked quietly. “Nobody seen him today?”

A chorus of “no”s from the team at large.

“And, uh, the big guy hasn’t either,” Scout added helpfully. “Hey, maybe someone should go check on him.”

“He’s cutting it awful close,” the Engineer hesitantly agreed. “If he has slept in, he’d need to wake up right about now if he’s gonna make it at all, let alone all prim and proper. Who’s gonna go check up on him? We could send the big guy.”

Some kind of noise and motion from Scout.

“...Alright, well, any volunteers?”

“I’ll go,” Spy finally said with a sigh. “Keep radios on, I’ll call in. Do not press the button.”

Heavy went cold, suddenly remembering the button in question.

They were hired mercenaries, and the large majority of them were... somewhat unstable. There were a few measures in place to make sure that nobody was doing anything... ill-advised. Their being stationed so far from civilization, and their work lives being scheduled to take up so much of their time, and a series of buttons around the base in case of a few emergency situations.

Obviously there were some for fires, earthquakes, or other disasters. Explosions, power outages, and other things of that nature. Then there were buttons for break-ins, stolen briefcases, sieges, assassination attempts.

Then there were a few for a couple of very specific instances. For a member of the team betraying the rest of them. For a member of the team being fired or quitting. And lastly, there was a button that was shared for two purposes—for any given member of the team not showing up to battle by the five-minute mark before prep time was set to begin, and for any given member of the team going officially AWOL. If they didn’t show up for work on time, they were to be presumed missing, and therefore presumed to be making a break for it.

There was exactly one other situation where something like this had happened—a brief power outage on the base had resulted in several people’s clocks getting reset, and the few who had purely mechanical clocks had needed to wake up the rest of the team, and they’d forgotten to wake up Scout. They met him halfway, finding him already booking it to try and get there on time, and had needed to collectively “forget” to call in that he wasn’t there on time, letting him show up a few minutes late (and promptly wheedling assorted favors out of him to continue to “forget”).

Spy left, and the rest of the team returned to regular everyday conversation, some kind of bickering between Demo and Soldier and Engineer, goaded on by Scout and Pyro. Heavy checked the clock every ten seconds or so.

At the six minute mark, an alarm started blaring.

Jolting and jumping and cries of surprise from the rest of the team, sudden very loud noises being one thing that professional killers tended to be bad at handling. Then looks of shock and surprise between all of them. Heavy felt sick.

“You don’t think...?” Demo trailed, and then they were all looking for the readout to figure out which alarm this one was, entirely unfamiliar with it. Heavy felt his blood go cold as he caught a glimpse of it.

“ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT—MEDIC”

In the mad dash to get to the infirmary to investigate, Heavy was among the last to make it, much slower than the rest of the team. When he got there, he found the team arguing with Spy, who was blocking the door and didn’t seem particularly keen on moving any time in the near future.

Until he looked up and saw Heavy, that is. Then he jerked his head, gesturing for Heavy to go inside, continuing to argue with the team, who all seemed to be in varying degrees of worried and alarmed.

Spy shut and barred the door behind them and gestured for Heavy to follow.

The setup from the night before was still there, test tubes and beakers, with the mess already apparently long since cleaned up. There was also a small tray of assorted basic medical equipment that Heavy could never remember the names for. But he noticed that Spy looked shaken just a few moments before he rounded the table and saw—

He was on his knees and speaking frantically before he even processed what he was looking at. Medic, on the ground, lying on his side, limp and lifeless. Heavy shook him by the shoulders, absolute unadulterated panic rising up into his chest and spilling out through his mouth in the form of frantic speaking, borderline shouting.

He demanded answers from Spy several times before he looked up and saw the confusion on Spy’s face and realized he wasn’t speaking English. He forced himself to slow down.

“What happened here?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Spy replied, clearly troubled. “He has a pulse still, and his breathing is fine, but he won’t wake up.”

Heavy looked down at Medic, alarmed beyond reason, and shook him again, shouted his title again. No response.

“I can’t be entirely sure, but despite my setting off that particular alarm, I don’t think that this was foul play, mon ami,” Spy said grimly, putting a hand on Heavy’s shoulder.

Heavy shot him a confused look, and Spy moved to carefully pick up something from the table—a syringe.

“I found this next to him,” he said, tilting it in his hand. “I am not presently sure what was in it. But if I had to guess... I think he might’ve injected himself with it.”

Heavy felt horror gnawing at him, biting a gaping hole into his gut. Because that wasn’t like Medic. He didn’t often test things on himself. His Medigun and other such implements, yes. But for other things, he always went to the rest of the team. And Heavy didn’t even know what any of this stuff on the table was.

And then he realized the worst part of all of this. Whenever there was an emergency like this, on or off the field, during work or during leisure time, in any situation at all, Medic was the one who tended to solve it. Sometimes with the help of the Engineer, or Demoman, or Heavy, depending on what the situation called for, but he was always the one there to fix it, to think things through and find a solution—often unorthodox, but always effective.

And now that Medic was the one hurt, who would be the one to help them?

-

Miss Pauling showed up within the hour, and was apparently given the run-down on what had happened. It was agreed between Spy and Heavy that their story would be that the syringe had been found several feet away from Medic on the floor and that Spy “very much suspected foul play”, just in case Medic had indeed made some kind of misstep himself that he could get in trouble for. Miss Pauling then apparently promised to investigate and get back to them on it. She apparently offered to find some other medical professional to help them, but admitted that it would probably take at least a day to get someone to the base, and Spy had turned down the offer.

Over the course of the first three hours, the rest of the team had all dispersed and gone to do other things. Medic had been moved to one of the cots he kept stored away in a half-hearted “ward”, and the Engineer and Demo combined had managed to fiddle and figure their way through finding and using some of the more basic medical equipment, and had hooked Medic up to a heartbeat monitor after the fifth time in twenty minutes that someone became convinced that he was dead, unable to feel his pulse or see his breathing.

Soldier had made a point, once the chaos had died down a little. Had pointed out that really, they could send Medic through Respawn and that would potentially solve this problem. But the Engineer hadn’t looked so sure, and so Heavy had immediately and firmly protested the idea until it was dropped again.

No further conversations needed to take place to determine that Heavy would be the one to stick around and wait for Medic to wake up.

Heavy ended up grabbing one of his books from the bookshelf that he’d previously left in the lab, still sitting there at the bedside but at least having something to occupy his mind while he waited so he wouldn’t go entirely crazy. For the most part he tended to get lost in his reading, and time often slipped by in the blink of an eye, but this time he found himself looking up every few minutes or so regardless, eyes darting up for a moment either to the heartbeat monitor or to Medic himself.

It was unsettling. He was glad they’d set up the monitor, because otherwise Heavy would surely be checking his breathing every few minutes. He was pale, almost sickly-looking, and his dark circles beyond pronounced. He looked like a corpse, almost. The sight of him like that shook Heavy deeply, more deeply than he could or would ever admit.

Around midday, Demo dropped by to check up on them, and to readjust the heartbeat monitor. At some point, the Engineer stopped by to bring Heavy something to eat, and to check for any updates. There were none. Medic hadn’t moved.

Heavy needed to get up to turn on a light when the sun finally set, and to pick up a different book. To pace for a little while. He fed the birds, made sure they had fresh water. But then he sat back down, forced himself to take a few deep breaths, to stay calm. Medic’s heartbeat was steady, as was his breathing. He wasn’t getting any worse. He just needed to be patient.

Heavy glanced up at the heartbeat monitor an hour later, squinting suspiciously, watching as it started picking up speed a bit. The number on the screen slowly started ticking up, and Heavy felt his concern rising alongside it. He hesitated for a while before closing his book and setting it aside, unsure of exactly what to do. After a moment he went with his gut instinct, leaning forward and gently shaking Medic on the shoulder.

“Doktor?” he asked, working hard to keep his voice level. He swallowed hard when he heard the monitor pick up even further. “Medic?” he tried again, shaking a bit harder, volume rising slightly.

Almost all at once, a shift, a movement, a change in Medic’s expression. Then Medic seemed to be fighting hard to open his eyes, to move, to sit up.

“Was? Was is los?” he managed, words slurring together and tumbling awkwardly as he blinked a few times, visibly disoriented. He seemed to be trying to shift his arms, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Medic?” Heavy asked again, shocked beyond words to see Medic moving.

A quiet scoff from Medic. “Ja, ja, what? What is going on?” he asked, sounding oddly exasperated, still trying to move. “What do you want?”

Heavy forced himself to blink, to respond. “You’re awake,” he observed, not quite able to string words together just yet.

“I’m awake,” Medic agreed, even as he swayed, blinked hard, “what did you need? What is wrong?”

“Wrong?” Heavy asked, confused even further.

“Yes, it’s all you people say, “Medic, Medic”, over and over, it’s infuriating,” the doctor rambled, words tumbling a bit again, and he managed to get a hand to Heavy’s arm, pushing on it and heaving himself up just a bit. “What is it? What did you need help with?”

“No, no, no help,” Heavy assured quickly, and moved to push on Medic’s shoulders. “Doktor should lay back down and rest. He is not well.”

“I’m fine,” Medic said flippantly, even as he fell like a sack of potatoes at the lightest push, and couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. “I’ll be fine. I’m just tired.”

“Rest more,” Heavy insisted, worry creeping back into view. “Doktor... does not remember?”

“What do...?” Medic started, and trailed for a few moments, drifting, before shaking himself what small amount he was able. “What? What do you mean?”

Heavy went to explain, but then he observed the crease in Medic’s brow, the cold sweat beading his face, the paleness of him, and he backtracked. “Nevermind. Later. Is Doktor comfortable?”

Medic seemed to think it over. “Yes. Cold, I suppose,” he amended. He squinted up at Heavy for a moment. “I’m... in a bed?”

“Yes. But it is night time. Go to sleep,” Heavy urged, even if he didn’t want to, even if he wanted Medic to jump to his feet and get right back to normal. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy, and that Medic needed rest, now.

Medic nodded distractedly, then shook his head. “No, no, I have work to do,” he protested weakly.

“First,” Heavy tried, scrambling to think of something. “Er... count backward from twenty.”

Medic huffed, and seemed to try to roll his eyes. “Fine,” he sighed, and only got to thirteen before he was out like a light.

Heavy snapped his fingers once or twice to see if Medic would react, and he didn’t, at which point he stood and went to find a teammate.

He found Spy, luckily, and quickly relayed what information he could. Medic had woken up briefly, and was too disoriented to answer any questions before he passed back out again. Spy nodded, looking a little relieved, and promised to update the rest of the team in case Heavy wanted to go and keep watch some more. Heavy thanked him.

Hours later, Medic stirred again, this time sitting up fully and starting to feebly fight his way free of his blankets for a few moments before he even managed to start speaking, but Heavy urged him to stay still, gently asked again if he remembered anything and got a non-answer in response, incoherent murmuring. He managed to get at least a full sentence out of him, Medic complaining that he was hungry. Heavy assured him that he would go get something to eat, and that it was very important that he stay put, and all but ran to the kitchen to dig up something and to return with it. He made the fastest sandwich of his entire life, and was back within ten minutes, but Medic was out again by the time he got back regardless.

Sometime around two in the morning, Heavy jolted awake from a doze at the sound of movement. Medic had sat up fully, and his eyebrows were drawn together, and his hair was sticking up oddly. It was more of a mess than Heavy had maybe ever seen him in outside of battle, and in battle it was usually an issue of blood and burns and mud and wounds, not bedhead and general dishevelment.

Medic squinted hard at him when he moved. “Heavy?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Heavy said quickly, sitting up straight.

“...Where are my glasses?” he asked. His voice was rough, but much less weak than before.

Heavy was quick to find them and pass them over, and Medic put them on, only fumbling a little bit in the process. “Doktor is hungry?” Heavy asked hesitantly, leaning and reaching for where he’d set the sandwich nearby. Medic nodded, and took it with only mild confusion, eating without protest. Heavy noted the way he seemed to wince, and quickly deduced that he was probably thirsty, and got up to fetch a cup of water. Medic took that as well, draining it in one go and then wolfing down the remainder of the sandwich with no further delay.

He set the plate aside, frowning, glancing around the infirmary. Heavy could see the cogs turning in his head. “...What time is it?” Medic asked.

Heavy leaned to try and get a glance at a clock. “Almost three,” he finally said.

Medic frowned harder. “...And what day is it?”

Heavy sighed, running his hand over his own head, slumping a little. “You were asleep for a full day,” he said, understanding what Medic really meant by that question.

A vague kind of alarm from Medic.

“What happened?” Heavy asked, cutting right to the point. After nearly a full day of panic, he thought he was entitled to be a little blunt.

Medic examined the situation for a few more moments, thought for a few more moments, before he sighed, apparently giving in. “Apparently, a failed experiment,” he said bitterly.

Heavy frowned.

Medic shifted, took stock of his surroundings briefly. Pushed his glasses up. “...You do not seem terribly panicked,” he observed.

“Doktor has already woken up twice,” Heavy said carefully.

Medic cringed. “Ugh. Did I say anything?”

“No, mostly... too disoriented to speak,” Heavy said. “What happened?”

“Well. What I was attempting to do, and presumably did a very bad job of, was make a sort of... anesthesia. Something that would be extremely effective at knocking someone entirely unconscious into a very deep sleep, which they could then wake up from eight or so hours later, perhaps more or less time depending on dosage.”

Heavy nodded, following along as best he could and trying to piece together the rest. “...And Doktor tested this on himself?” he asked.

“Ja, to make the long story short.”

“Why? Why did you make this?” Heavy asked, still confused, because Medic had said multiple times before that he thought anasthesia for surgeries was unnecessary when he had the Medigun.

Medic’s jaw tightened. “Not important,” he said.

Heavy sighed hard, dragging a hand down over his face. “Doktor, you have a badly scared team,” he said, sharp and short. “All very frightened by this. We deserve real explanations.”

Medic looked at him for a long few moments, the cogs in his head whirring too fast for most to keep up with, but Heavy was fairly sure he could follow along once he understood a few more things.

First, that Medic was looking a little bit better, once he woke up. Better than normal. Less ragged, even though he clearly would be needing a shave at some point.

Second, that Medic had seemed genuinely surprised for a second to hear that the team had been worried about him.

Third, that the expression on his face could be described as guilt, which Heavy had only seen him wear exactly once before, twenty-four hours prior.

Medic broke eye contact, glared off out into the infirmary. The doves were rattling a tray of surgical equipment across the room.

“I was attempting to make a sleeping aid,” Medic finally admitted.

A few moments to make a series of connections before Heavy spoke. “...For yourself?” he asked, just for clarification’s sake.

“Ja. For myself.”

“Doktor is having trouble sleeping?” he asked, more gently now.

“Stop that,” Medic said, tone absolutely biting, and Heavy recoiled a little bit. Medic promptly exhaled, eyes falling closed, that guilt back full force. “I... I meant... just, don’t use that tone. I do not need to be babied, I am a fully grown man. Yes, I have been... having trouble sleeping. And it began to interfere with my work.”

“What is problem?” Heavy asked, careful to keep his tone even.

“I am unable to stay asleep for any period of time. Falling asleep is fairly easy, but once I’m out I am woken almost immediately.”

His tone was beyond the clear-cut clinical kind that he wore when explaining most things, it was outright cold, derogatory even, and Heavy felt indignant for a moment before realizing the tone wasn’t directed at him. Medic was glaring down at his own hands.

“I understand all of the symptoms I am experiencing, and why they are there, and what is causing them, but still I...” Medic visibly forced himself to take a breath as his voice started rising. When he spoke again, it was even and level. “I understand now what I did wrong, and rest assured, it will not happen again.”

“How bad were sleeping troubles to make this happen?” Heavy asked, still incredulous.

Medic’s shoulders sank. He continued looking everywhere but at Heavy. “I have not gotten more than a total of seven hours of sleep per week for the last month,” he said quietly.

Heavy’s blood ran cold.

Medic sighed, pushing his glasses up to knead at the bridge of his nose viciously. “And this has happened before, is not terribly unusual, but also I’ve been feeling extremely nauseous at all hours of the day and so I haven’t been eating more than one or two meals at most, and being hungry makes my mood flare unexpectedly, and so I dive into work to sort through it, and then I’ve missed out on more meals and more sleep and I’m—“

Medic cut himself off cold. Glared off at nothing, into the darkness of the infirmary, with more blatant and fiery disgust and anger than Heavy had ever seen him in, even in the worst of his temper in the height of battle. It was a little frightening.

But that fear was overshadowed by concern, because his eyes were shining, tears more visible against the contrast of the bags under Medic’s eyes.

“I’m just... tired, Heavy,” Medic admitted, like a Herculean effort, worse than pulling teeth, worse than open heart surgery, and it made sense that it was so cleary difficult for Medic to say, because Heavy realized all at once that it was the first time Medic had ever said something like that.

Medic never complained. Chided, of course, and lectured, and occasionally berated, but never complained. Not of hunger, or fatigue, or heat, or cold, or anything at all. Not when he was bleeding profusely from bullet wounds or shrapnel, not when the team ate all of the food at dinner without leaving any for him because he hardly ever showed up anyways, not when it was clear he’d been woken up twice and three times during the night to deal with injuries from various shenanigans.

He was always there to fix their problems, to check in on the team, to notice one too many yawns, or unnatural flushes as symptoms to fevers or overheating in the desert sun, or stumbling, or having apparently forgotten to eat breakfast. He kept everyone in shape, kept the whole team on top of taking care of themselves as best they could, and made up the extra distance for them when they slipped. Gave them modified hearts and healed their wounds and chided them to make sure to eat dinner and get their sleep and wash their hands and to smoke and drink just slightly less.

And Heavy realized, all at once, that they never gave him that courtesy in return.

He, Heavy, was there to listen to Medic, to hear him talking about things, to be there for him in many ways emotionally, but when was the last time he’d asked about Medic’s well-being outside of a cursory greeting?

He pieced together all at once Medic not showing up for breakfast or dinner, and missing lunch during battle to hunt down teammates who’d been downed and needed help. Medic always staying up so late working and getting up so early to get ready for work on time.

He was fairly certain that Medic would literally give an arm and a leg to any teammate who so much as asked. And none of them ever so much as given him the courtesy or wondering if he was alright. Because they assumed that Medic was somehow managing to take care of himself, on top of his taking care of all eight of them.

Heavy leaned in and pulled Medic into a hug.

Medic stiffened, clearly confused, unsure of what to do. “...Heavy?”

“I am sorry, Doktor,” Heavy rumbled, throat feeling a little tight. “I am sorry that this happened. We... help to figure something out,” he promised. “We are a team, we will look out for each other. And Doktor looks after all of us the most, and so we should look after Doktor the most. Credit to team. We will help. I will help.”

“...Thank you, Heavy,” Medic said slowly, a weight to it, and managed an awkward sort of pat, as if trying to comfort him, still, even then, waking up in a hospital bed of sorts with no memory of the previous day.

He finally pulled back, glancing Medic up and down. “Is there anything Doktor needs?” he asked.

Medic shook his head, adjusted his glasses again. “I can handle myself now, I think,” he said with an air of finality, starting to free himself from the blankets he’d been lumped under.

Heavy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a hard look. Medic faltered. Deflated.

“...Water would be appreciated,” he mumbled, and Heavy nodded, standing to go get him a cup.

-

Heavy was the one to update Miss Pauling the next day, to tell her that Medic had woken up at some point but would be needing an additional day to recover. She hadn’t asked any further questions, just nodding and handing him a thin file to give to Spy when he had the chance.

He did so an hour later at breakfast.

He first handed the folder off to Spy, who thanked him, then went to go get himself a plate of food. Medic had dozed off again at some point, and it would probably be a good idea to eat while he had the chance. As much as Medic kept insisting that he could do things on his own, when he’d briefly gone to get a change of clothes he’d wobbled severely and gone very pale the moment he stood up and tried to walk, so Heavy was fairly certain he’d be spending another day in the infirmary helping him with things while he recovered a bit more. And to be honest, the chairs in the infirmary were extremely uncomfortable, so he’d appreciate sitting somewhere else for a while.

Once he sat down, he was bombarded with questions by the rest of the team.

“Has he woken up yet?” Scout asked, curious.

“Do you know what happened?” Demo asked, concerned.

“Anythin’ we can do to help?” Engie asked, earnest.

Heavy hesitated in a couple of ways, partially because he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer, partially because he wasn’t entirely sure with what all Medic would want him to say. He confirmed that Medic had woken up a few times, for a few minutes the first times then for a few hours the next. He made brief eye contact with Spy before explaining that they were going to continue telling Miss Pauling they didn’t know what happened, and that Medic knew that as well, but that in reality he’d made a mistake with an experiment and he’d need another day or so to recover.

On the last question, he hesitated for quite some time before answering.

“If any help is needed, I will ask,” Heavy said slowly. “But... maybe we need to be better to Doktor.”

Sounds of confusion and question from the table at large.

“Medic always works very hard,” Heavy elaborated carefully. “Takes care of team, keeps us safe and healthy. Makes sure we are all okay. Maybe... we could be better at watching out for Doktor too.”

A few nods and sounds of agreement. “Not sure he’d take too well to us nagging him, though,” Engie said.

“Maybe no nagging. But... letting him know we can notice he is not well, and that we want him to be well,” Heavy elaborated. “Heavy can do nagging.”

“So, what’s the story we’re tellin’ Miss P? Still the, uh, the old ‘whoops, someone tried to kill him, ain’t that a shame’ thing?” Scout asked.

“Yes.”

“If you would like, we can take turns in bringing food to the infirmary,” Spy offered. “If you do not particularly feel like being there the entire day.”

“Will be there to keep Doktor company anyways, but maybe it will help to have team stopping by,” Heavy agreed.

They started sorting out a schedule for that, of who would be dropping by when, inventing some excuses for people to come by the infirmary and kick around for a while to keep things interesting. A few minutes in, Pyro dropped by to join planning, and Sniper showed up half an hour later and was talked at for about twenty minutes before he managed to extract himself long enough to at least grab his coffee.

And over the course of the rest of the day, Medic’s continuous complaints about being bedridden eventually started to fade away under the weight of the team’s shenanigans. The Engineer dropped by and they talked over some more Medigun and Dispenser redesigns for quite a while, and Spy brought by a newspaper at some point and they had a lengthy discussion in German about assorted European politics and recent news. Different pairs of teammates dropped by a few times over the course of the day with assorted food and drink, Demo and Scout doing so after apparently using their time off to drive all the way to civilization to get some bad diner food, and bringing back leftovers for Heavy and Medic.

Shortly after Soldier and Pyro stepped out, having dropped off an earnest and surprisingly successful attempt at them baking apple pie for the two of them to get a taste of, Medic looked over at Heavy, a little suspicious. “So what exactly did you tell them?” he asked outright.

Heavy blinked, felt himself flushing a little. “...What do you mean?” he asked anyways.

Medic rolled his eyes. “Clearly you told them something. The entire team didn’t simply unanimously decide to come by to try and do whatever all of this is.”

Heavy shrugged after a moment’s consideration. “Just that all day I would be here to help if Doktor needed it,” he said, which wasn’t untrue, just not the full truth.

And Medic seemed to suspect that, but he didn’t say anything, just tucking back into the food.

At some point, Medic took a brief nap. Not brief in the usual sense, brief in that he shook awake with no small amount of thrashing and panic about twenty minutes into falling asleep. He waved off Heavy’s concern and tried to go back to sleep again, and it repeated. A third time. A fourth time.

By then, it was getting late. Medic said he promised that he wouldn’t get up and do any moving around or anything if Heavy wanted to go and sleep in his own room instead of sleeping in a chair again.

But he hesitated when he said it, and Heavy couldn’t help but ask about it.

It was with great difficulty and a lot of careful wording that Medic admitted that usually he didn’t even get those twenty minutes of sleep before he woke up again. Usually it was five or ten at most, and then he couldn’t fall back asleep again. But he felt mildly comforted in some ways because he knew—

And that was where he cut himself off, refused to say more for a long few minutes. When he finally spoke again, he wouldn’t look at Heavy, head tucked forward, staring very pointedly at nothing.

He finally admitted, he felt mildly comforted in some ways because he knew that he was safe, with Heavy there.

Heavy didn’t need to hear any more than that. He pulled over one of the gurneys and slept on that for the night, and every night after that until Medic was fully, entirely recovered.

-

“Doktor?” Heavy called, pushing into the infirmary and glancing around. “Team time.”

“Ja, ja, one moment,” Medic said, waving him off with one hand, the other pouring birdseed into the little feeder he kept for his doves. He brushed his thumb over Archimedes’s head to dislodge some kind of dust or mess, tsk’ing him quietly, before setting the bird down and scooping up his coat on the way to the door. “What is breakfast?”

“Engineer makes, er... toast, with egg and cinnamon,” Heavy explained, looking down at the food in question, the name escaping him momentarily as he picked up the Medigun and starting to walk, Medic on his heels.

“French toast?” Medic supplied, moving to pull on his coat, glancing backwards to check that the infirmary door closed behind him.

“No, it was Engineer who made it, not Spy,” Heavy joked, and was promptly scoffed at and elbowed, Medic falling into step beside him. Once Medic had done up his coat, Heavy handed him the slices, and Medic ate them quickly and efficiently, brushing his hands off before he took the Medigun from Heavy. “Did Doktor get enough sleep?”

“More than usual,” Medic agreed, sounding pleased.

“Good,” Heavy nodded, holding the door for Medic as they got to the hall to the locker rooms. “Sleep is important.”

“I know, Heavy,” Medic said, rolling his eyes a little, “I do not need to be babied.”

“Is not babying, Doktor is not a baby,” Heavy protested. “Is caring about teammate and friend.”

Medic rolled his eyes again, but despite his best efforts, Heavy just barely caught a glimpse of a smile on his face, and that was enough.

“Hey, Doc! Sup, Heavy!” Scout called as they entered the locker room, and the rest of the team called out similar greetings. Heavy just nodded at them and Medic gave a small wave as he went to get the rest of his equipment, Heavy splitting off to do the same.

“How’re you doin’, Doc?” Engie asked cheerfully, lacing up his boots.

“Fine, fine,” Medic said. “Yourself?”

“Alright. Enjoy the breakfast?”

“It was good, although I’m not entirely sure I’ll ever get used to how much butter and fat people in America use on everything,” Medic admitted.

“I said the same thing,” Spy chimed in from nearby, startling Heavy slightly, who hadn’t noticed he was there.

“Well, Heavy’s not an American either, and he liked it well enough,” Engie defended, and Heavy nodded his agreement.

“It is more energy to fight better,” Heavy said simply. “Is not a bad thing.”

“It is important to eat healthy foods and get a balanced diet,” Medic said almost mechanically, automatically.

“But it’s more important to eat at all,” Engie pointed out.

Medic didn’t have a good rebuttal for that.

And he didn’t say it out loud, because Heavy knew that to push too far would feel patronizing, but he did notice some things just then, watching Medic calibrating the Medigun. How sharp and clear his focus seemed to be. His dark circles were nearly gone. His face had a healthy amount of color, and his posture was straight but relaxed, almost effortless, and his movements were efficient. And when he looked over at Heavy to check that he was ready to go, his voice was crisp, unwavering, and there was life there behind his eyes. Really, genuinely, life there behind his eyes.

And he knew there would be slumps, next time Medic picked up a project or something went wrong or they had one day of losses too many. But maybe it was worth all this work just to have a moment or two of seeing that life there.

Just maybe.

[mindofharry]

we’ll be alright.

in which Harry’s new guitarist Amy is way too cool for him.

WARNING: swearing, angst, drugs, mentions of depression and addiction and Amy being the coolest person ever!! :,))

“you need to go for this job Amy” her brother said to her leaning back in the kitchen chair. She sighed putting her feet on the table before covering her face with her hands that were filled with tattoos.

“I can’t keep doing this for you” he said tears filling up his blue eyes. “Margie and I love you, to pieces, but we can’t have you in the house when you’re like this” he said pulling a hand through his blonde hair.

Amy was living in her brothers, Alex and his wife, margies house until she could find a job. she’s been living there for two years. And she doesn’t plan on leaving any time soon.

“Alex” she begged “I, I need you” she said grabbing his hand while he looked away sniffling. “You don’t love me?” She asked standing up. “It’s all margies fault. we could’ve been this great band. But no! Margie had to ruin everything!” She yelled throwing this chair over.

“I’m sorry alex” she whispered picking up the chair. “Amy you need to find a job and leave” he said wiping his tears.

“I just need time. Just, just I need some money-“ she rambled on before Alex cut her off standing up.

“No! No! Amy you’re 20 and you’re addicted to drugs. You’re ruining my life and yours. Margie and I can’t even try for kids because we have to look after you. And your fucking mess. I am not your dad. I am your brother. If you live under My roof you do not drink or take drugs. So I’m asking you again, get the fuck out of my house” he yelled his face red with anger. Amy stood there shocked and angry. She wasn’t addicted. She’s only done it a few times. Or more. She can’t remember. It helps her forget.

She looks around the kitchen trying to fight her sob. “You finally gave up on me alex” she said smiling. “good luck with the family” she said patting him on the back before going up to their guest room and packing her stuff.

Amy looked at the mirror and stared at herself. She felt nothing. She hated the feeling. And the only time it went a way was when she was having sex or taking drugs. She liked feeling wanted and warm. She liked the feeling of someone call her theirs.

She had all of that when her and Alex has a small band when she was 16 and he was 20. She felt home. She felt warm. She felt wanted.

And looking at herself in the mirror she looked like she needed help. so she packed her bags, and decided to go that interview.

The interview was for a band for Harry styles. She knew who he was. And she wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t nervous, because she was. This could make her. not as in make her famous, but this could help her get better. And that’s what she wanted, to get better.

She really didn’t look her best. She should’ve showered and got changed but she didn’t have anywhere to go. And she didn’t want to upset her brother any further.

Music was the only thing that was consistent in her life. the only thing that never gave up on her or walked out. When her father was around, he used to play her some pretty cool music. Music was a big thing in her family. It got them through tough times. When her mother left first her dad pulled through his depression playing them music and teaching them random facts about Stevie nicks and mick jagger to distant himself from the pain of his only love leaving him and their children. Amy never understood why she left. Why he left. But Alex always told her that if he ever left for whatever reason just play Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac, and all the sadness would go away. So she did. She played it everytime he gave up on her.

she walked to the building where the interview was taking place puffing out her cigarette and pushing up her sunglasses. Her blonde hair was such a mess, her hair was still some what curled from the day before, her eyeliner and eyeshadow really showed that she had been through something. Her outfit consisted of a navy tank top, skinny black jeans and doc martins. Her neck was filled with necklaces and her arms and hands were filled with tattoos.

She sighed looking over to see a few people looking a lot more presentable than her walking in to the buliding with their instruments. She looked down at her suitcase and guitar and shrugged walking up closer to the building.

“Now or never” she murmured to herself putting out the cigarette. She walked into the building before looking around at all the people. She spotted a girl, older than her, judging her slightly. Amy smirking walking over to her pulling down her sunglasses.

“Are you homeless?” The girl asked when Amy sat down. Amy looked at the girl smiling “yes, I’m also very high at the moment” she said grinning. The girl shook her head, her brown hair moving in the tight pony tail she had placed it in.

“Are you homeless?” Any asked and the girl rolled her eyes pulling out a piece of paper to look over.

“you know, I hope you get the job” Amy said leaning back. “Well, I also want the job, but you should get it too. But I want it as well” she said to the girl. “You don’t make any sense-“ the girl said before a voice interrupted them.

“Were trying to do this as quick as possible. So please if you don’t have anything ready or you’re just here to see harry, please leave” the guy said looking down at his clip board. Amy didn’t prepare anything. Like she was actually going to leave like most of the other people.

“Ok good. We’re going to do this in alphabetical order, so first up we have,,,, Amy Perkins” he asked looking around. “That’s me wish me luck” she said to the girl beside her before standing up.

“That would be I!” She called out pulling along, basically her home, before tripping up slightly. “Whoops”

She walked into the room, which was filled with males. The guy from outside, Harry styles, and some producers and managers she guessed.

Harry looked her up and down biting back a smile, he looked over at Jeff, pulling a face and Jeff just shrugged.

“Oh shit, it’s dark in here” Amy said pulling off her sunglasses.

Jeff rolled his eyes and grabbed his clipboard.

“Ok, Amy you said you live with your brother correct?” He asked and she winced “incorrect” she said clearing her throat “got kicked out: hence the suitcase” she said pointing her hands towards the bag. Harry’s eyes widened before looking over at Jeff again.

“Uh- um you’ve got experience in this right?” Jeff asked and she nodded “traveled a bit in a and with my brother” she said they nodded “why’d you stop?”Harry asked and she pointed at him “ that is for me to know and you to never find out” she said pulling out her guitar.

“What are you playing then” Jeff sighed Amy shrugged. Jeff groaned and closed his eyes “Jesus, I told you to go home if you didn’t prepare anything” he said and she stuck her tongue out at him “ like I was actually going to go home! I’m homeless” she said before putting her hair up.

Harry shook his head and thought this must of been some joke. Until he heard the guitar. She had played some riff off of one of the Beatles songs. They loved her immediately after that.

she was now part of CHAASM!

and she knew she’ll be alright.

let me know if you want a part two! :,))

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 20/?

May I? - 20/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

A/N: Hey guys! I’m back. Sorry for the delay. this chapter gave me a bit of trouble. Also, I’ve been playing a LOT of DND lately and it’s eating up all my muse. Anyway, I hope to have the next update sooner than this one. Enjoy.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Screenshot by @geekygwen​

Faith didn't know what to think. Her emotions were running rampant, though part of her was still in complete shock at what she had witnessed. She had never seen that look in Data's eyes before. The strength of his punches was unfathomable. Honestly, she was surprised Fajo was still alive.

His normally serene face had been twisted into a frightening mask of rage. 

“What happened over there?” Riker asked as he led her to sickbay. 

She told him the events of the evening, in short, clipped tones that made it clear she didn't want to talk. Riker listened, stoic face remaining passive until she mentioned Data losing control.

Only then did his mouth twitch into a frown, eyebrows knitted together with worry. Yet, he didn't look surprised.

“Has this happened before?” Faith asked.

Riker nodded. “Once. Not too long ago. With a Borg who was attacking him. Data said he ‘felt' angry.”

“This wasn't anger, Will. This was rage.” 

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been scared of him. In that moment, when he turned to look at her, his fists covered in Fajo’s blood, she didn't know what he was going to do.

Seemingly sensing her distress, Riker put his arm around her shoulders. “Listen, Faith. Data would never do anything to hurt you. You know that right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. It was just...it was scary to see him lose control that way.”

They arrived at sickbay in time to see Beverly and her staff rushing to stabilize Fajo. Once he saw the scope of the man's injuries, Riker seemed to give Faith a look of understanding.

He led her over to one of the empty beds, making sure she sat before he left her side.

“How is he, doc?” Riker asked Beverly.

“He's been severely beaten. There is massive internal bleeding and several broken bones,” Beverly listed as her assistant injected Fajo with a hypo. “His pulse is weak but steady for the most part. I think he's going to live.”

Faith sighed with relief. It wasn't for Fajo’s sake however, it was for Data's. If he had killed Fajo, she did not know how he would take it. She suspected he was already confused and overwhelmed as it was. 

He had always been adamant that he could not feel emotion. She felt he could on some level, in his own way. Now it seemed he was evolving, experiencing emotion from a human perspective.

And I shied away from him when he probably needed me, Faith thought, angry at herself. Way to go, Faith.

Riker and Beverly spoke in hushed tones but Faith was too lost in her own muddled thoughts to try to eavesdrop. She watched Dr. Crusher and her staff move quickly, doing everything they could to take care of Faith's captor. 

It took some time but eventually, Fajo was stable. Riker left to go report to the captain and it was then that Dr. Crusher came over to help Faith.

“Not exactly the romantic weekend we discussed, huh?” she teased with a soft smile, gently examining Faith's broken wrist.

“I mean, it was great right up until we crashed. I'll tell you all about it sometime.”

Beverly smiled. “You better.” She gave Faith a hypo for the pain before she went about closing the cut on her cheek and setting her wrist. 

For the most part, Faith was still and silent. She felt awful for how she reacted to Data and knew she had to talk to him. But she suspected the captain would have a lot of questions for him and there was no way of knowing how long he'd be tied up.

“You're good to go,” Beverly said as she wrapped a brace around Faith's wrist. “The break is healed but I want you to wear this for a few days to keep it straight. Only take it off to shower. Other than that, you need rest. Your body is exhausted and not just from the injuries.”

“No, not just from that.”

Beverly looked at Fajo before glancing back at Faith. “Did he hurt you in any other way?”

Faith shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Just this and a phaser blast to the hip a few days ago.”

Beverly ran the tricorder over Faith's old injury. “Minor internal bruising but that's about it. Again, I prescribe rest. At least a day or two before active duty.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Do you want something to help you sleep?”

“Yes.”

Faith knew she wouldn't be able to rest on her own. Beverly seemed surprised at her immediate acceptance of the help. 

“There are a few homeopathic remedies programmed into the replicators,” she said. “I'll send you my favorite. If that doesn't work, some see me and we'll administer something.”

“Thanks, Beverly.”

She smiled and patted Faith on the knee. “It's good to see you in one piece.”

“It's good to be back.”

As Faith was getting to her feet, the sickbay doors opened and Deanna appeared. Faith knew the counselor was looking for her. She had suspected she would be sought out once the Oz’ods were handled. She was sure her wild emotions had hit Deanna the moment she appeared on the transport pad.

“Hey, counselor,” Faith said with a wry smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh hush you.” Deanna gave her a big hug, which Faith returned. “We were so worried about you.”

“I'm okay. Honestly.”

Deanna glanced at the unconscious body of Fajo, then back to Faith. “Let's walk,” she suggested. 

Faith allowed herself to be led from sickbay, eager to get back to the familiar safety of her quarters.

“How bad was it?” Deanna asked once they were out of earshot of anyone.

Faith didn't answer at first, unable to verbalize her feelings. Deanna didn't push, only kept her arm around the young woman as they walked.

“It was the worst thing I have ever experienced,” Faith admitted. “We were separated at first and I had no idea what Fajo had planned or was trying to accomplish. He used me to get Data to do his bidding.”

“And Data did it.”

“Yes. Eventually, we were allowed to be together but we were obviously being watched. If it wasn't for the Oz’ods help, I don't know what we would have done. How did you find us?”

“Once we were able to establish communication with the Oz’od we had in custody, we realized what was happening. They were able to tell us about Fajo’s ship and where he liked to orbit. Once our repairs were done, we immediately began the search.”

“I'm glad you did.” Faith leaned on Deanna for support. “All I wanted to do was get us back home.”

Deanna squeezed her shoulder. “Well, you're here now and it looks like Fajo got what was coming to him.”

“Will Data be reprimanded for what he did?”

“I can't say. I do know I want to see him twice a week now instead of once.”

“He must be so confused.”

“You are as well.”

Faith sighed deeply. “I am. But I can't think about that right now. This isn't about me. I need to be there for him. I was so cold to him a few minutes ago.”

“You're entitled to your reaction,” Deanna said. “It is not an unusual response to detach yourself emotionally from an emotionally charged moment. Data will understand if you explain it to him.”

Faith fell silent. Her body felt like it weighed a ton and her steps became harder to control. She briefly wondered if Beverly had secretly slipped her something but more likely it was the lack of proper sleep and sudden drop of adrenaline.

Deanna showed her to her quarters, pulling her into another firm hug. “Stop by tomorrow afternoon and we'll talk more, okay?”

Nodding, Faith hugged her back. “I will.” And she meant it.

Once she was alone in her quarters, she realized that it was the last place she wanted to be. She had been alone too long over the last few days. She couldn't stand it anymore. After gathering a few personal items, she immediately left, heading for Data's quarters instead.

When she arrived, Barclay was just getting there as well.

“Faith! You're back!” he said. “It's...it's good to see you. I was just about to feed Spot.”

“Thanks, Reg,” she said. “I'll handle it. I think Data will be tied up for a while. He appreciates you taking care of Spot for him though.”

“It's no trouble, she's a very sweet cat,” Barclay said.

He took in her disheveled appearance, along with her wrist brace. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Faith admitted. “But I will be.”

“If-If you ever need to…” Barclay stopped himself. “I mean...I better than anyone understand anxiety.”

Faith smiled. “I'll keep that in mind. Bye, Reg.”

He gave her a small wave as she slipped into Data's quarters. Just seeing the familiar surroundings was enough to put her at ease. Spot came out from the closet, stretching and yawning. When she saw it was Faith, not Data or Barclay, she turned around and went right back to her sleeping space.

“Nice to see you too,” Faith chuckled.

She replicated Spot’s dinner, then sat on the bed to wait for Data.

It felt strange to be back. Over the last few days, she had lived in a near-constant state of heightened anxiety, and to finally be in a safe space was disorienting. Spot came out to eat and once she was done, she seemed curious about Faith and wandered over.

Faith was surprised when the cat headbutted her leg, rubbing herself along Faith as she asked for attention.

“It's just because I'm the only one here, isn't it?” Faith chuckled, reaching down to scratch the cat behind her ears. 

The cat jumped onto her lap and began loudly putting. Faith continued to stroke her soft fur, finding the action oddly soothing.

It was only twenty minutes later when the doors opened and Data stepped in. As soon as she saw him, Spot meowed and made a beeline for her owner. 

“Hello, Spot. It is good to see you as well,” Data said, picking the cat up. His eyes fell on Faith and he gave her a look of surprise. “Faith...you are here.”

“Would you rather be alone?” Faith asked, reaching for her bag. “I can go back to my quarters.”

“Please stay,” Data insisted. “I was under the impression you did not wish to be in my company.”

Faith winced. “I'm sorry I made you think that. I just needed some time to process what happened.”

“I understand.” Data put Spot back down before he joined Faith on the bed. 

They both remained silent as if neither one knew what to say to the other. Data was the first to speak.

“Faith, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you no longer wish to be a couple?”

She had anticipated his question, remembering how he had mentioned something similar during their first date.

“Oh, Data, babe.” Faith wrapped her arms around his arm, hugging it close. “Of course I still want to be with you.”

“That is a relief. I was concerned my outburst may have changed our relationship.”

“Well, I mean, it has,” Faith said. “But not in that way.”

“In what way are you referring?”

Faith wracked her brain trying to find a sufficient way to explain her muddled thoughts. “Seeing your partner in such a raw emotional state is bound to change things. You've seen me broken down more times than I can count. I guess, with all your talk of lack of emotions, even though I firmly believe you feel things your own way, your outburst completely blindsided me.”

“Me as well,” Data said. “It has not happened that way before. I was not anticipating it.”

“I know that now. I should have realized it then as well. I'm sorry for pulling away.”

Data studied her closely. “Faith, are you frightened of me?”

Faith took a deep breath. “In that moment, I was. But I'm not now.”

“I do not wish for you to ever be frightened of me,” Data said. “I cannot control these new emotional responses and if I hurt you in the process, I will be unable to forgive myself.”

Faith cupped his cheek, pulling him into a kiss. It was deep but chaste, meant to provide comfort when her words could not.

“I trust you, Data,” she said when their lips parted, her forehead coming to rest against his. “Whatever is happening to you, whatever emotions you develop, we'll figure them out together. I promise.”

“Thank you, Faith.”

They embraced and remained sitting for some time until Faith remembered they still wore the clothes Fajo forced them into.

“I should change,” she said, drawing away and plucking at the ruined dress.

“As should I,” Data agreed. “You may use my lavatory if you wish to wash.”

Faith gave him a coy smile. “Will you join me?”

“While my skin does occasionally become covered with dirt, it eventually cleans itself so I do not require…” He paused, realizing what she was offering. “I see. You are being solicitous.”

Faith giggled. “Yes, I am. In a sense. We don't have to engage in anything sexual. I just want to be close to you.”

She slowly stood, offering her hand to Data. He studied her with curious attention, his brow furrowed in the most adorable way.

“Yes, I will join you.” He accepted her hand.

Faith smiled and led him to the washroom. Once inside, she turned on the shower, making sure the temperature was to her preference before turning back to Data. He remained stock-still, clearly unsure of how to proceed. 

Taking the lead, Faith removed the shawl he had fashioned for her before turning her back on him. “Can you unzip my dress?”

Data's hands were gentle as they took hold of the delicate zipper, dragging it all the way down until the fabric around her loosened. She sighed when she felt his hands glide across her skin beneath the fabric, pushing it off her shoulders.

The flimsy fabric gave way easily, pooling down her curvy frame and falling to the floor. Faith stepped out of it and towards the shower, disposing of her brace along the way. With an inviting glance over her shoulder, she smiled at Data before stepping into the shower.

The cascading hot water immediately put her at ease. She heard the rustling of fabric and then Data was there with her. She turned to face him. 

It was strange seeing him in such a human setting. Faith never realized how much she truly saw him as an android. She needed to do better, to be better. She needed to see him as a person, no different from herself.

When she kissed him this time, he responded, one arm sliding around her waist while his free hand cupped her cheek. The heat from the shower and their bodies was intoxicating. It made her head spin.

How could I fear this man? This sweet, wonderful man? she thought to herself, moaning softly as his tongue hesitantly prodded her lips. 

She opened for him, allowing him to taste her as she molded to his slick wet body.

“Faith.” He breathed her name between kisses. “My body is becoming aroused.” 

She could feel the swell of him against her stomach and it sent a bolt of pleasure through her. “Mmm, mine too,” she hummed in response.

“You did mention not doing anything sexual. If we continue kissing this way that will not help the situation.”

Faith chuckled, pulling back slightly to peer up at him through her thick eyelashes. 

“Probably not. Do you wish to stop?”

“If you wish to continue, we can.”

Faith looked him directly in the eye. “Data,” she said. “Do you want to stop?”

He processed her rephrased question, studying her closely. “Yes,” he said. “It has been a long day and you need your rest.”

Smiling with understanding, Faith gave him one last peck before withdrawing from his arms. “Okay, you're right. I am feeling a bit woozy.”

“Let us finish washing and then get you to bed.”

Faith took Data's hands and covered them with soap, gently scrubbing the dried blood off his knuckles. She knew he could do it himself but she didn't want to pull away this time. She wanted to show him that she wasn't scared anymore.

Data watched her closely and though he remained silent, she was sure the symbolism was not lost on him. He helped her clean herself next, hands ever so gentle as they spread the lather across her light brown skin. 

After they finished, Data stepped out and brought Faith a large fluffy towel. Together they dried off and dressed in fresh clothing.

Faith wore a pair of loose pants and a large shirt while Data had his uniform.

“Dr. Crusher says the replicator has some home remedies to help me sleep,” Faith commented once they left the bathroom. 

“I shall get you one,” Data insisted. 

Faith combed her fingers through her hair, leaving it loose to dry faster. Once she was comfortably seated in bed, Data brought her a steaming mug of tea.

“I believe it is what is known as ‘Sleepytime Tea’,” he explained. “I added honey to sweeten it as I know you do not like bitter tea.”

“You're the sweetest, thanks.” Faith took the mug and allowed it to warm her hands. “Are you going to jump back to work while I sleep?”

Surprisingly, Data shook his head. “I do not feel it is appropriate to work after such an ordeal,” he said. “I would much rather provide you comfort at this time.”

“Are you sure? I really don't mind. I like falling asleep to you working. It's soothing. I know laying here can be a bit boring for you.”

“I want to lay with you.”

Faith smiled at his words. “I'd love nothing more.”

She drank her tea and slipped under the covers while Data disposed of her mug. He joined her a moment later, immediately pulling her into his solid embrace.

Although Faith was exhausted, she couldn't bring herself to sleep. Even with being comfortable and safe in Data's arms, her brain would not rest. The tea had made her drowsy but she still fought it. The irrational part of her brain kept making her picture Fajo bursting through the door at any moment.

“Faith, can you not sleep?” Data asked after some time had passed. 

“I'm afraid to close my eyes,” she admitted.

“We are on the Enterprise. You do not need to be afraid.”

“Logically I know that.”

Data nodded with understanding. “But anxiety does not follow logic,” he finished.

“Exactly.”

“Computer,” Data said. “How many lifeforms are currently in these quarters?”

“Two lifeforms: human and feline, as well as one android.”

“Computer, are the locks enabled for these quarters?”

“Affirmative.”

Data offered Faith a smile. “Does that help?”

She smiled back and snuggled closer, allowing her eyes to finally close. “Yes, it does. Thanks, babe.”

Data kissed her forehead. “Rest now, mi alma.”

Faith opened her eyes again, staring at Data in awe. “Data…?”

“It is the term of endearment I have chosen for you,” he explained. “Do you not like it?”

“I...I love it,” she said, voice thick with emotion.

Data smiled softly and adjusted the blanket around her. “Then I will continue to use it.”

Faith smiled back almost sheepishly, heart skipping a beat as the memory of her native language sliding so effortlessly off Data's tongue.

As she drifted off to sleep, all she could think about was the meaning behind his words. He had often mentioned his thoughts on spirituality and the idea of whether or not an android could have a soul.

She was honored that he had decided he did and that she was it.